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RULES AND REGULATIONS 



GREEN-WOOD CEMETEEY; 



CATALOGUE OF PROPRIETORS. 



iHr. €leat)£lanb's ?Df0a*lptlDe ^oticca 



"GREEN-WOGD ILLUSTRATED." 






" We are ' strangers and sojourners' here. We have need of ' a possession of a burying 
place, that we may bury our dead out of our sight.' Let us have ' the field and tlie cave which 
is therein ; and all the trees that are in the field, and that are in the borders round about;' and 
let them be made sure for ' a possession of a burying place.' " — Judge Story. 



N E W YORK: 



1848. 







• ^ ^ 






OFFICERS OF THE CORPORATION. 



Robert Ray, President. 

Henry E. Pierrepont, Vice President. 

J. A, Perry, Co?nptroller and Secretary. 



Robert Ray, 
Jonathan Goodhue, 
Jacob R. Le Roy. 
Stephen Whitney, 
Russell Stebbins, 
G. G. Van Wagenen, 
William Augustus White, 



trustees. 

George Griswold, 
William S. Wetmore, 
Cyrus P. Smith, 
A. G. Hammond, 
John H. Prentice, 
Pliny Freeman, 
Henry E. Pierrepont, 



J. A. Perry. 



SURVEYOR, 



KEEPER OF THE GROUNDS, 
William S( rimgeour. 

SUPERLXTENDENT of the WORKMEN, 

George Birrell. 



A 



PART FIRST. 



RULES AND REGULATIONS OF THE CEMETERY, 

SUGGESTIONS RESPECTING THE PURCHASE AND 
IMPROVEMENT OF LOTS, &c. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, 

BY THE GREEN-WOOD CEMETERY, 

in the Clerk's OflSce of the District Court of the United States, for the 

Southern District of New- York. 



stereotyped by C. Davison & Co., 
S3 Gold street, New York. 



Printed by Pndney & Rustell, 
79 John street. 



©reen-toooi ^emetcrji. 



OFFICE NO. 39 WALL STREET 



November 15, 184:8. 




HE Grounds of this Institution now com- 
prise two hundred and forty-two acres. 
They are more extensive than those of any 
similar institution in this country or Europe, 
and are entirely free from incumbrance. 

These grounds are situated in Brooklyn, 
on Gowanus Heights, about two and a 
half miles from the South Ferry. They 
are beautifully undulating and diversified, 
presenting continual changes of surface and scenery, and are 
remarkably adapted to the purpose for which they are appropri- 
ated. The elevated portions of the Cemetery afford numerous 
and interesting views, embracing the Bay and Harbor of New 
York, with its islands and forts, the cities of New York and 
Brooklyn, the shores of the North and East Rivers, New Jersey, 
Staten Island, the Quarantine, numerous towns and villages in 
every direction, together with a view of the Atlantic Ocean reach- 
ing from Sandy Hook to the Pavilion at Rockaway. 

The various Avenues in the grounds (exclusive of paths) 
extend about fifteen miles. These, together with the principal 
hills, dells, etc., are delineated on a map of the Cemetery, which 
is published in portable form, as a guide to those not familiar 
with the grounds. 

The ACT OF INCORPORATION which is inserted in Part Second 
of this publication, embraces every desirable provision for the pro- 
tection, permanence and proper government of the institution. 

It directs that the affairs of the Corporation shall be managed 



6 



RULES AND REGULATIONS 



by a Board of fifteen Trustees, to be chosen by the lot owners 
from among their own number ; each owner of a plot of land, not 
less than 300 superficial feet, to be entitled to a vote. It directs 
the Trustees so chosen to be divided into three equal classes, one 
class in rotation, to be elected every two years, for the term of 
six years, with the privilege of re-election indefinitely. 

It authorizes and directs the land acquired by the Corporation 
to be disposed of and used exclusively for the burial of the dead. 

It exempts such lands forever from assessments and public 
taxes, and also from liability to be sold on execution, or for the 
payment of debts by assignment under any insolvent law, and pro- 
vides for the termination of all avenues and streets at the boun- 
daries of the Cemetery. 

It requires that the proceeds of all sales of lots shall be applied 
to the purchase, preservation, improvement, and embellishment 
of the Cemetery, and to the incidental expenses thereof, and to no 

OTHER PURPOSE WHATEVER. 

[Under this provision, a Fund will be formed, the interest of 
which will be adequate, after all the lots shall have been disposed 
of, to insure the perpetual care of the grounds and improvements, 
whether belonging to lot owners or to the institution.] 

It authorizes the Corporation to receive upon trust any donation 
or bequest for the purpose of improving or embellishing the Cem- 
etery generally, or any cemetery lot, and for the erection, preser- 
vation, and renewal of any monumental structure and inclosure. 

It provides for the punishment of any person who shall defiice, 
mutilate or otherwise injure any monument, inclosure, or shrub- 
bery in the grounds, and also for the payment of any damages 
which may in consequence be sustained. 



Sales of Cots. 




T will be perceived, from the foregoing provi- 
sions of the charter, 

That purchasers of lots acquire not merely 
the privilege of burial, but also the fee simple 
of the ground which they purchase ; 

That they are the sole proprietors of the 
Cemetery ; 

That by their vote in the election of Trus- 
tees they control the government of the institu- 
tion ; 



OF THE GREEX-WOOD CEMETERY. 7 

That, as all the receipts of the Institution must be expended in 
the purchase, improvement, and preservation of the grounds, no 
speculative interest can conflict with the wishes of lot owners 
respecting its management ; 

That, as all the resources will be thus appropriated, either im- 
mediately, or in the ultimate formation of a fund, the interest of 
which shall be annually appropriated as required, ample provision 
is made for the perpetual embellishment and preservation of the 
grounds ; 

That, as the ground is exempt from public taxes, and from lia- 
bility for debt, and is sold in lots which are not subject to assess- 
ment, or annual charge, the proprietors can never be forcibly de- 
prived of their ground. 

Purchasers may choose from all unselected ground not reserved 
for public monuments or other special uses. Mounds and hills, 
arid places requiring peculiar improvements, will be sold, however, 
only in the forms and dimensions suggested by the agents of the 
Institution. 

The Surveyor or Keeper will always be at the grounds to aid 
those wishing to purchase. 

The price of an ordinary Burial Lot is $110, and in proportion 
for any additional fractional dimensions. When, however, four 
or more lots are taken at one time, by one or more persons, in a 
group, they are sold at $90 each. Smaller plots, but not less 
than a half lot will be sold, at proportionate rates. These prices 
include all charges for grading and keeping in order. No charge 
will be made for any work unless especially ordered by lot 
owners. 

The enlargement of families and the desire which is naturally 
felt to be laid with one's kindred at death, often render it desira- 
ble to secure more than an oi'dinary lot. To facilitate this object 
a lower price is fixed where four or more lots are taken in one 
place. 

Large plots also admit of superior improvements, while the ex- 
pense of inclosure is proportionably reduced as the plot is en- 
larged.* The cost of a vault under ground together with the 
price of a lot will about suffice to purchase /o?/r lots, to inclose 
which requires but fifty-six feet more of railing than is needed for 
a single lot. Where four lots are inclosed together in a square 
or oblong form, the expense for each lot is one half less than if 
separately inclosed. If in a circle the difference is still greater. 



The railing required for 1 lot is about 80 feet. 

2 lots 103 " 

" " 4 lots in a circle, 136 " 

R " " 193 " 

10 '• " 216 " 

20 " " 306 " 



8 RULES AND REGULATIONS 

The advantages of large plots compared with vaults on single 
lots, are now generally appreciated. Many of the beautiful hills 
and knolls, which are found in the Cemetery, may be sepa- 
rately inclosed without incurring much more expense than will 
be necessary to inclose a single lot. More space is thus obtain- 
ed for interments, as well as for the adornment of the grounds 
with shrubbery and flowers. It prevents also that excessive and 
unsightly crowding together of monuments which prevails where 
single lots only are laid out, and greatly aids in preserving the 
rural character of the Cemetery. 

The size of each lot is 12 by 25 feet, containing 300 superficial 
feet, in addition to which a foot is allowed on the margin all 
around, for purposes of inclosure, making the plot, in effect, 14 
by 27 feet, and containing 378 superficial feet. Around each lot, 
when sold separately, and around each group of lots when sold 
as above, a space of three or four feet is always allowed. 

The form of the lot varies according to circumstances, depend- 
ing upon the peculiar surface of the ground, and the character of 
the improvements contemplated. Thus, lots are given in circu- 
lar, square, oblong, octagonal, or oval form, as the circumstances 
of each case render desirable. 

Proprietors may dispose of their lots, and have the transfer re- 
corded on the books of the Company, by the payment of one 
dollar for each transfer. 

Lots are conveyed by the Institution in form and manner fol- 
lowing : 

Know all Men by these Presents, That the Green-Wood 
Cemetery, in consideration of dollars, paid to them 

by of , the receipt whereof is hereby acknow- 

ledged. Do hereby grant, bargain, sell and convey to the said 
heirs and assigns Lot of Land in the 

Cemetery of the said Corporation, called " The Green-Wood 
Cemetery," situate in the Eighth Ward of the City of Brook- 
lyn, in the State of New York, which Lot delineated and laid 
down on the Register ]Map or Plan of the said Cemetery, in 
the possession of the said Corporation, and therein desig- 

nated by the number containing superficial feet. 

To HAVE AND TO HOLD the herein above granted premises to 
the said heirs and assigns forever ; subject, however, to 

the conditions and limitations, and with the privileges specified 
in the rules and regulations hereto annexed. .\nd the said The 
Green-Wood Cemetery, do hereby covenant to and with the 
said heirs and assigns, that they are lawfully seized of 

the herein above granted premises in fee simple : that they have 
a right to sell and convey the same for the purposes above ex- 
pressed, that the said premises are free and clear of all charges 



OF THE GREKN-WOOD CEMETERY. 9 

and incumbrances, and that they will warrant and defend the 
same unto the said heirs and assigns, forever. 

In Testimony Whereof, the said The Green- 
Wood Cemetery, have caused this instrument 
l- -. to be signed by their and their Common 

L ■ 'J Seal to be hereunto affixed, the day of 

in the year of our Lord, one thousand 
eight hundred and 

RULES AND REGULATIONS 

ANNEXED TO DEED OF CONVEYANCE. 

I. All lots shall be held in pursuance of " An Act to Incorpo- 
rate the Green-Wood Cemetery," passed April 18, 1838, and an 
Act to alter and amend the same, passed April 11, 1839, and an 
Act further to amend the same, passed May 11, 1846, and shall 
not be used for any other purpose than as a place of bui'ial for 
the dead. 

II. The Proprietor of each lot shall have a right to inclose the 
same with a wall not exceeding one foot in thickness, nor one 
foot in height above the surface, to be placed on the margin 
allowed for the purpose ; or with a railing (except of wood) ; but 
the Trustees request that all such railings should be light, neat, 
and symmetrical. 

III. Proprietors shall not allow interments to be made in their 
lots for a remuneration. 

IV. No disinterment shall be allowed without permission being 
obtained at the office of the Corporation. 

V. The Proprietor of each lot shall have a right to erect any 
proper stones, monuments, or sepulchral structures thereon, (ex- 
cept that no slab shall be set in any other then a horizontal posi- 
tion,) and to cultivate trees, shrubs and plants in the same ; but 
no tree growing within the lot or border, shall be cut down or 
destroyed without the consent of the Trustees. 

VI. If any trees or shrubs, situated in any lot, shall by means 
of their roots, branches or otherwise, become detrimental to the 
adjacent lots or avenues, or dangerous or inconvenient to pas- 
sengers, it shall be the duty of the said Corporation, and they 
shall have the right to enter the said lot and remove the said 
trees and shrubs, or such parts thereof as are detrimental, dan- 
gerous or inconvenient. 

VII. If any monument, effigy, or inclosure, or any structure 
whatever, or any inscription be placed in or upon any lot, which 
shall be determined by the major part of the Trustees for the time 
being, to be offensive or improper, or injurious to the appearance 
of the surrounding lots or grounds, the said Trustees, or a major 
part of them, shall have the right, and it shall be their duty to 



10 RULES AND REGULATIONS 

enter upon such lot, and remove the said offensive or improper 
object or objects. 

VIII. It shall be the duty of the Board of Trustees, from time 
to time, to lay out or alter such avenues or walks, and to make 
such rules and regulations for the government of the grounds, 
as they may deem requisite and proper to secure and promote 
the general objects of the institution. 

IX. The Proprietors of lots, and their families, shall be al- 
lowed access to the grounds at all times, observing the rules 
which are or may be adopted for the regulation of visitors. 



Bulc5 couccruing Sntpvoncmcnts. 



URCHASERS may improve their lots when- 
ever it suits their convenience. 

To insure the proper regulation of the 
grounds, the grade of all lots will be deter- 
mined by the agents of the Institution. 

All workmen employed in the construction 
of vaults, inclosing of lots, erection of monu- 
ments, &c., must be subject to the control 
and direction of the agents of the Institution ; 
and any workmen failing to conform to this 
regulation, will not be permitted afterwards to work in the 
grounds. 

To protect the grounds, and especially improved lots, from 
injury by the introduction of casual workmen, who, not being 
regularly employed in the grounds, have no special interest in 
their preservation, the Trustees have i^.iade arrangements with 
responsible persons for the building of vaults, and also for mak- 
ing other improvements. Under this arrangement the work is 
executed more completely and durably, and at considerably less 
cost than could otherwise be done ; the materials being pur- 
chased and transported in large quantities, and the labor being 
performed by men who are thoroughly acquainted with their 
business. Owners of lots, however, may, if they prefer to do so, 
employ other workmen, except for the grading of lots and mak- 
ing excavations for vaults. 

All earth and rubbish accumulated by proprietors of lots, or 
their agents, must be carefully removed as soon as possible, and 
deposited wherever the agents of the Cemetery may direct. 

No wall exceeding one foot in height above the surface of the 
ground, may be erected upon lots, nor may iron railings be erect- 




OF THE GREEN-WOOD CEMETERY. 11 

ed exceeding three feet in height, without special permission 
being previously obtained. 

Wooden inclosures are not allowed. 

Tombs erected wholly or in jiart above ground, must be fur- 
nished with shelves, having divisions allowing interments to be 
separately made, and perpetually sealed, so as to prevent the 
escape of unpleasant effluvia. 

The Trustees have no wish to interfere with the taste of indi- 
viduals in regard to the style of tlieir improvements ; but yet, in 
justice to the interests of the whole, they reserve to themselves 
the right of preventing or removing any erection or inclosure, 
which they shall consider injurious to the immediate locality, or 
prejudicial to the general good appearance of the grounds ; and 
also of removing or pruning any trees or shrubbery which may 
obstruct, or mar the effect and beauty of the scenery, or may oth- 
erwise prove injurious or detrimental. 



Suggccitions to Cot ©ujucrs. 

DURABILITY OF IMPROVEMENTS. 

HE permanence of sepulchral architecture 
>^ is an object so desirable, as to entitle it to 
^ special attention. The dilapidation and dis- 
figurement of structures reared for the dead, 
has been too common to excite surprise, 
but can never be witnessed without pain. 
Knowing as we do the numerous causes of 
decay and displacement, which are ever in 
action, it should be made a primary consid- 
eration to guard against them. Respect for the dead — respect 
for ourselves — and a just regard for the taste and feelings of all 
whom either affection or curiosity may attract to the Cemetery, 
demand so much, at least, of those who shall make improve- 
ments in Green-Wood. This is a matter, obviously, in which 
all are interested — for whatever the precaution and care used by 
some, if others through inattention suffer their grounds and mon- 
uments to become squalid and ruinous, painful contrasts will soon 
offend the eye, and the entire grounds will suffer a serious injury. 
It is not indeed possible wholly to prevent the ravages of at- 
mospheric influences, but proper care in the erection of the struc- 
ture will greatly counteract and long retard them, while those 
who shall sec fit to take advantage of the provisions made by the 
charter for the preservation of monuments and inclosures, may 
insure their integrity and beauty for ages to come. With the view 
to promote this result, the ensuing suggestions are offered. 




12 RULES AND REGULATIONS 



INCLOSURES OF LOTS. 

Various modes may be adopted, according to varying circum- 
stances. Those most in use are, hedges, posts and chains, posts 
and bars, and iron railings. These will be noticed in order. 

HEDGE INCLOSURES. 

These may be formed of various kinds of plants, but those 
best adapted to cemetery purposes are the box and the arbor vitae, 
Avhich are evergreen ; the privet or prim, and the osage orange. 
The hawthorn is sometimes used, but being the native of a humid 
climate, its leaves often fall in August or September, making it 
less desirable than some other plants. 

For small plots the box is perhaps the best, as it is of slow 
growth, and does not for a long time attain such height as to 
exclude the circulation of air so necessary to the growth and 
luxuriance of the grass and shrubbery within the lot. For large 
plots the arbor vitas is most suitable, as it presents at all seasons, 
if properly set out and trimmed, a screen of truly beautiful ver- 
dure. Hedges are not suitable for lots Avhich have much descent, 
as the loose earth about the stems and roots is liable to be washed 
away by heavy rains. 

POSTS AND CHAINS. 

This mode of inclosure is objectionable. The chains are ex- 
tremely liable to rust, and as they do not bind the posts hrmly 
together, and are frequently used as seats and swings by children, 
they soon get out of place, and of course present an unsightly 
appearance. 

POSTS AND BARS. 

Inclosures of this kind are substantial, and if not so generally 
introduced as to produce monotony, appear well. Various kinds 
of stone are used for posts, comprising granite, marble, and sand- 
stone. Care should be taken that whether for chains or bars, no 
posts should be used but such as are free from a stratified forma- 
tion. Quincy granite, and also some kinds of sand-stone, are ex- 
empt from this objection. If marble be used, the chains or bars 
which come more immediately in contact with the posts, should 
be so thoroughly painted as to prevent discoloration to the mar- 
ble from the rusting of the iron. 

IRON RAILINGS. 

In regard to these it may be remarked, that those which unite 
simplicity and good proportion are deemed to be in best taste, 
and most likely to afford permanent satisfaction. While firmness 



OF THE GREEN-WOOD CEMETERY. 18 

and stability should characterize each railin<r, unnecessary size 
and weight of iron should be avoided, especially in plots of ordi- 
nary size. Large plots require a somewhat heavier inch)sure in 
order to appear well, particularly those in which massive monu- 
ments and tombs are erected. 

In selecting patterns, those which expose the fewest joints 
and crevices to the action of the weather should be preferred. 
Careful attention should be paid to the foundations on which they 
are erected. If coping be used, it should be placed on a stone 
wall, laid in cement, at least two and a half feet deep, so as to 
be secure from the action of the frost ; or if stone blocks or posts 
are used (which are preferable), they should be of granite, at least 
einht inches square at both ends, and placed securely in the 
ground not less than two and a half feet. 

Railings should be painted as soon as erected, before the rust 
commences forming, else the paint will be apt to come off in 
scales. The paint should consist of three coats, made quite thin, 
as a better body will thereby be formed than if made of the usual 
consistency. The iirst coat should be of red lead and litharge ; 
the second and third of pure white lead and oil, colored as may 
be desired. If the second coat be of lead color, it will best pre- 
pare the railing for any other color which may be used. In 
painting, care should be taken to cover every part, and to fill 
every crevice. Thus painted, railings will rei(uire no care for 
several years. It may be well to observe, that common black 
paint or varnish being composed very frequently of lamp black 
and oil merely, will not long prevent the action of rust, and 
ought not, therefore, to be relied upon. If black be preferred as 
a color, two previous coats of red and lead colors should be 
applied. 

MONUMENTS. 

In regard to monuments, scarcely too much care can be be- 
stowed to insure permanency. The foundations should be laid 
strongly in cement, and be not less than six feet deep — the usual 
depth of graves. The stone of which the structure is made 
should be free from visible defects, and, if possible, of sufficient 
size to extend across the entire structure. Monuments composed 
of common masonry and faced with thin slabs of marble or stone, 
will not last. It is a species of veneering that will soon exhibit 
the efl'ects of the severe exposure to which it is subjected — nor 
will even the solid stone long endure, unless it be made to lie on 
what is termed its natural bed. Most kinds of stone and marble 
are composed of strata, or layers, not unlike the leaves of a book. 
If the stones are placed edgewise, or vertically, so as to expose 
the strata unfavorably to the action of the weather and the frost, 
the seams will in time separate, and the whole structure eventu- 
ally fall into ruin and decay. 



14 RULES AND REGULATIONS 

TOMBS. 

The preceding remarks will apply with even greater force to 
tombs built in part or wholly above ground. In such structures 
particular care is needed in the plan and construction which may 
be adopted. The stones of which they are built should be of 
sufficient length to extend frequently through the wall, not mere 
slabs set up on the edge, forming no bond of union between the 
outer and inner surface. Where angles occur, each alternate 
course should be composed of solid stones cut to the angle re- 
quired, so as to prevent effectually a separation of the walls. 

When placed in the hill side, the parts above the natural sur- 
face of the grounds hould be of cut stone, the sides as well as the 
front, so as to avoid all artificial embankments and sodding. The 
natural form of the hill will thus be preserved, unsightly artificial 
mounds will be prevented, and the expense of frequently renew- 
ino- and repairing embankments will be avoided. The front foun- 
dation wall should not be less in depth than two and a half feet, 
nor should the side walls in any part be of less thickness than two 
feet. The roof should always be of stone tiles, or cut stone flag- 
ging, and the joints thoroughly protected from exposure to the 
weather. The interior of the tombs should be fitted up with 
shelves, (as required by the Rules,) so constructed as to admit of 
each coffin being permanently and tightly sealed at the time of in- 
terment, with tablets of stone or marble ready prepared for the 
inscription desired. Thus furnished, no unpleasant effluvia will 
be perceived, nor will any re-interment of the remains be neces- 
sary, as in other cases, after the coffins shall have decayed. 

VAULTS. 

Vaults under ground should be built of stone walls, at least 
eighteen inches thick, with arch of hard brick twelve inches thick, 
and all laid in the best of cement ; lime should not be used for 
work under ground, nor is it well to use it in any way for monu- 
mental purposes. 

VARIETY IN MONUMENTS. 

As the permanency of monuments, and their inclosures, is 
essential to the proper appearance of the grounds, so are symme- 
try and variety of form necessary to produce a permanently 
pleasing effect. The experience of other institutions in this 
respect appeals with force to the lot owners of Green-Wood. 

The following passage, which occurs in a publication of the 
Laurel Hill Cemetery Corporation, at Philadelphia, is appropri- 
ate to the subject : 

" It has been the frequent remark of visitors — our own citizens 
as well as strangers — that a monotony already begins to be ap- 



OF THE GREF.N-WOOD CEMETERY. 15 

parent in the stylt; and Ibrm of the improvements ; ohelisk suc- 
ceeds obelisk, etc., with only slight variations, and it' this is con- 
tinued, we sliall see, in time, too dull a uniformity to strike the 
mind with airreeal)le sentiments. This may be oi)viated by a lit- 
tle more inquiry before ordering a monument, and by not always 
taking the advice of the stone-mason, often himself willing to sug- 
gest the greatest bulk for the least money, and thus allowing mar- 
ble to usurp the place of good taste." *##*## 

" A correct idea, expressed in marble, may be very beautiful, 
so long as it is unique ; but by too frequent imitation, and in too 
close proximity with its original, it may destroy the charm of the 
first, and ultimately raise feelings in the beholder the reverse of 
those desired." 

A valuable article by N. Cleaveland, Esq., on the subject of 
monuments, and another by the same author respecting inscrip- 
tions on monuments, will be found at the close of Part Second of 
this publication. They merit an attentive perusal by every per- 
son contemj)lating the erection of a monument, and by all who 
desire the prevalence of good taste in monumental improvements. 

SHRUBBERY. 

In the selection and placing of trees and large shrubs, good 
judgment and taste should prevail. A very beautiful efl'ect may 
be produced by appropriately grouping trees, so arranging 
size, form, and color, that all will harmonize, or contrast favor- 
ably with the surrounding shrubbery. If attention be not paid 
to this feature, the most beautiful landscape will be marred ; and 
common observation shows, that such results in the transplant- 
ing of trees are often witnessed. 

Discrimination should also be exercised in selecting smaller 
shrubbery and flowers, that they may be suitable to the purpose 
for which the grounds are set apart. To arrange a burial plot as 
one would plant a flower-garden, is, to say the least, in very ques- 
tionable taste. Care ought then to be taken that too many flowers 
are not set out, and that the kinds and colors of such as are select- 
ed be appropriate. Nothing coarse or incongruous w ith the ob- 
ject and the place, should be chosen. Those which are delicate 
in size, form, and color should be preferred. Such as are simple 
and unobtrusive, and particularly those which are symbolical of 
friendship, aflection, and remembrance, seem most fitting to beau- 
tify the " Place of Graves." 

AID TO PROPRIETORS. 

Proprietors contemplating making improvements, will have 
every facility extended to them by applying at the oflice of the 
Cemetery. Plans and estimates of railings, monuments, and 



16 RULES AND REGULATIONS 

tombs will be procured, and the superintendence of the whole 
will be undertaken by the Comptroller (without charge) if de- 
sired. 

The importance of special attention on the part of lot owners to 
the particulars contained in the preceding suggestions, has been 
strongly impressed upon the writer, while visiting other Cemete- 
ries in our country, and especially those of longest date. Nor, if 
we may credit testimony, is trans-Atlantic experience at variance 
with our own. In all may be seen, both in failures and success, 
how essential it is that durable materials should be used — that 
the right modes of construction should be adopted, and that the 
execution of the work should be thorough and complete. ' 

Nor is it of small moment, as some may suppose, that the de- 
signs of monumental structures should avoid similarity. Nothing 
can tend more directly to render such grounds tame and uninter- 
esting, than the frequent recurrence of the same, or of similar 
forms, in the monuments and tomb-fronts. To prevent this result, 
slight alterations in particular features are sometimes made, but 
with little avail, so long as the general aspect and character are 
identical with those from which they are adopted. The mistakes 
which have already been made in this respect, are too palpable 
not to force themselves on our notice, and too serious not to make 
us anxious to avoid them. 

Allusion has been made to the importance of making permanent 
provision for the preservation of monuments and inclosures. On 
this point, too, we may take a lesson from observation. Reference 
has been made on a preceding page to that section in the charter 
which authorizes the Cemetery Corporation to receive gifts or be- 
quests for the purpose of applying the income thereof to the pres- 
ervation or renewal of any improvements which may be made on 
lots, or to the embellishment of the general Cemetery grounds. 
As a guide to those wishing to avail themselves of this provision, 
the following form of a bequest for insertion in Wills is appended. 
It may be altered so as to provide for improving any lot, or the 
generiil grounds, in any other manner consistent with the design 
and purposes of the Corporation. 

FORM OF BECiUEST FOR THE PRESERVATION OF IMPROVE- 
MENTS, ETC. 

I hereby give and bequeath to the Green-Wood Cemetery, the 
sum of dollars. To Have and to Hold the same to the 

said The Green-Wood Cemetery and their successors, upon trust, 
however, to keep the same invested, or to allow interest thereon 
at the rate of six per cent, per annum, and to apply the income 
thus arising therefrom, under the direction of the Board of Trus- 
tees, to the repair, preservation or renewal of any tomb, monu- 
ment or grave-stone, railing or other erection, or for planting and 



OF THE GREEN-WOOD CEMETERY. 



17 



cultivating trees, shrubs, flowers or plants upon, in or around Lot 
number in the Cemetery grounds of the said Corporation ; 

and to apply the surplus of such income, if any, to the improve- 
ment of the said Cemetery grounds. 

Provided, however. That the said Trustees shall never be re- 
sponsible for their conduct in the discharge of such trust, except 
for good faith and such reasonable diligence as may be required 
of mere gratuitous agents; and provided further, that the said 
Trustees shall in no case be obliged to make any separate invest- 
ment of the sum so given, and that the average income, derived 
from all funds of the like nature belonging to the Corporation, 
shall be divided annually, and carried proportionally to the credit 
of each lot entitled thereto. 



3ntcrmcut5. 




RECEIVING TOMB is provided at the 
Cemetery, for the accommodation of 
those who intend to purchase lots. 
Twenty days from the time of inter- 
ment are allowed for making the selec- 
tion and removing the remains. The 
necessities of the Cemetery render im- 
•^ perative the strict observance of this 
rule. In the winter season, however, 
and when the improvement of a lot or 
other circumstances may make it necessary, a reasonable exten- 
sion of the time will be granted. 

This Tomb is situated on Willow Avenue, near the entrance 
to the Cemetery, and is well adapted to the purpose for which it 
is built. The floor is level with the Avenue (the front being 
entirely above ground,) afl"ording convenient access at all times. 
The interior is plastered with cement, and comprises eight apart- 
ments, each with doors, which are entered from a light and well 
ventilated passage-way. All of the apartments are fitted up with 
shelves, so as to render unnecessary the usual practice of heap- 
ing the cofiins upon each other. 

At the time of deposit the coffins are all numbered, and a re- 
gistry made of them with the view to distinguish them readily 
when finally removed, and thus prevent their being previously 
disturbed. In this, as in all arrangements pertaining to inter- 
ments, care is taken to avoid every thing that might be unpleasant 
to the feelings of relatives and friends, and to consult, as far as 



18 RULES AND REGULATIONS 

practicable, their peculiar wishes and views. No charge is made 
for the use of the tomb, except one dollar each time that it is 
opened. In cases of removal from the Cemetery, however, a 
charge will be made of ten dollars each for adults, and five dol- 
lars for children. 

Receiving Tombs are also provided as follows : 

One at the Carmine street Cemetery ; notice of interment in 
which to be given to Mr. John Mace, No. 75 Carmine street. 

One in the Baptist Church in Sixteenth street ; notice of inter- 
ment to be given to Mr. Charles J. Day, No. 113 Eighth avenue. 

One in the grounds of St. Mark's Church ; notice of interment 
in which may be given to Mr. Charles L. Carpenter, sexton of 
the church. No. 39 Third avenue. 

One in the Third Congregational Church, Cranberry street, 
Brooklyn ; notice of interment to be given to Mr. Robert How- 
ard, No. 69 Pine-apple street. 

A charge of five dollars is made for each interment in these 
tombs, to be paid at the time of interment; when removed, how- 
ever, to the Cemetery, three dollars will be repaid by the Cem- 
etery Institution. 

A safe and convenient apartment has also been provided at the 
South Ferry, New York side, where temporary deposites of 
remains may be made during the winter season, if desired. 

PUBLIC LOTS. 

Single graves may be procured in Lots of three kinds. 

First. In Lots inclosed by a hedge, at ten dollars each, for 
adults, and five dollars each for children under ten years of age. 

Second. In Lots inclosed by an iron railing, at fifteen dollars 
each, for adults, and seven dollars and fifty cents for children 
under ten years of age. 

Third. In Lots inclosed by a hedge, where any number of 
contiguous graves, not less than two, may be had at twelve dol- 
lars and fifty cents each, for adults, and one half that sum for 
children under ten years of age. 

In all these cases the usual charge for opening the graves is 
included in the prices named. 

In Lots of the first and second classes no monuments can be 
allowed excepting slabs laid upon the graves, or thick head- 
stones, not exceeding nine inches in height above the graves. 
Neither slabs nor head-stones may be more than two feet wide, 
for adults, and eighteen inches for children. In Lots of the third 
class, small monuments may be erected, sufiicient space being 
provided for one monument to each plot of two graves. In all 
cases they must rest upon a stone foundation at least six feet 
deep. 

Graves purchased in any of the public lots, may be used for 



OF THE GREEN-WOOD CEMETERY. 19 

Other interments, by payinjr the usual cost of opening graves, as 
hereafter mentioned. If Lots should afterwards be purchased, 
the full cost of the graves vacated will be allowed, after deducting 
the expenses for originally opening the ground, and for tlie dis- 
interment of the remains. Tickets admitting a family at all pro- 
per times are given to all who purchase graves. 

TOMBS. 

Permanent interments may be procured in Tombs erected for 
the purpose, at fifteen dollars each. For children under twelve 
years of age, seven dollars and fifty cents ; under two years, five 
dollars. 




Hulcs conccruing Sntcvmcnts. 



HE duties of Superintendent of interments 
'^ are performed by the Keeper of the Grounds, 
^ who, with his family, resides at the Cemete- 
ry, and is required to be in attendance at 
every interment. 

2. In each case of burial, a statement giv- 
ing the name, place of nativity, residence, 
with the number of the street, age, disease of 
the person to be interred, and also whether 
married or unmarried, must be handed to the Keeper, that an ac- 
curate registry may be made of the same. 

3. Whenever interments are to be made, previous notice should 
be given at the oflice of the Cemetery, or to the Keeper of the 
Cemetery, on the day previous to the interment, if possible. Af- 
ter office hours, and "on Sundays and holidays, application may be 
made to the Comptroller at his residence, No. 03 llemsen street, 
Brooklyn, or to the Keeper at the Cemetery. 

The size of the coffin, on the top, or if in a case, the size of the 
case, should be particularly mentioned. And when interments 
are to be made in private lots, the location of the grave in the lot 
should also be stated. 

4. All interments, except those in the Public Lots, will be sub- 
ject to tlie following charges, which, in all cases, must be paid 
at the oflicc of the Cemetery, before the interment, or to the 
Keeper, at the time of interment. 



30 



RULES AND REGULATIONS 



OPENING OF GRAVES 

Adult graves, usual depth, six feet, 
" " seven feet, 

" " eight feet, 

" " nine feet, 

" " ten feet. 

Children's graves, under 

10 j'ears, usual depth, six feet, 
" " eight feet, 

" " ten feet. 

Opening vaults under ground, 

" tombs in side hills and above ground. 



$3.00 
3.25 
3.50 
4.00 
4.50 

$2.00 
2.50 
3.50 
2.00 
1.00 



Note. — A suggestion to lot ow^ners respecting interments in 
their plots, may here be of use. It frequently occurs that mes- 
sages are sent desiring that graves should be opened adjoining or 
near the graves of persons previously interred. Where graves 
are not designated by stones or otherwise, it will be impossible, 
in process of time, to comply with the directions thus given, un- 
less some system designating every grave be adopted. It is 
recommended, therefore, that eacli lot owner make a drawing of 
his plot on a blank page of his deed, and record on it every inter- 
ment, with name and date. Upon the occurrence of future inter- 
ments, let a transcript of this map, with the place marked where 
the grave is desired to be opened, be duly sent. In this way 
every difficulty will be obviated, and an interesting family record 
will be made and preserved for future generations. 

Funerals pass to the Cemetery over the Fulton and South 
Ferries, and the Hamilton Avenue Ferry, at the following rates 
of ferriage, viz. : for carriages, twelve and a half cents, and one 
horse vehicles six and a quarter cents each way. 

Over Hamilton Avenue Toll Bridge no charge is made. 




Rules conccruing iDisitors. 

ISITORS will obtain as favorable a view of 
the Cemetery as can be had at one visit, and 
reach the entrance without difficulty, by keep- 
ing the main avenue, called The Tour, as 
indicated on the Map, and by the guide boards. 
A little familiarity, however, with the grounds, 
and references to the Map, will enable them to 
take other avenues, many of which pass through 
grounds of peculiar interest. 

Each proprietor of a lot will be entitled to a ticket of admission 
into the Cemetery with a vehicle, under the following regulations, 
the violation of which, or a loan of the ticket, involves a forfeit- 
ure of the privilege : 

1. No vehicle, or person on foot, will be admitted unless ac- 
companied by a proprietor, or a member of his household, with 
his ticket, or unless presenting a special ticket of admission, 
obtained at the office of the Cemetery. 

2. Children will not be admitted unless with their parents, or 
with persons having them specially in charge, nor will schools, 
and other large assemblages of persons, be admitted, 

3. On Sundays and holidays the gates will be closed. Propri- 
etors of lots, however, and persons accompanying them, will be 
admitted on foot by applying to the Keeper at the Lodge. 

4. None but lot owners and their households will be admitted 
on horseback, and they only by obtaining a special ticket of ad- 
mission at the office of the Cemetery. 

5. No vehicle will be allowed to pass through the grounds at 
a rate exceeding four miles the hour. 

6. No persons having refreshments of any kind will be per- 
y mitted to come within the grounds, nor will any smoking be 

allowed. 

7. Persons having baskets or any like articles, and those hav- 
ing dogs, must leave them in charge of the Porter. 

8. No horse may be left by the driver in the grounds unfastened. 

9. All persons are prohibited from picking any flowers, either 
wild or cultivated, or breaking any tree, shrub or plant. 

10. All persons are prohibited from writing upon, defacing or 



22 



GENERAL REMARKS. 



injuring any monument, fence or other structure, in or belonging 
to the Cemetery. 

11. Any person disturbing the quiet and good order of the 
place by noise, or other improper conduct, or who shall violate 
any of the foregoing rules, will be compelled instantly to leave 
the grounds. 

12. The Porter is charged to prohibit the entrance of all im- 
proper persons ; and also those who at any time shall have wil- 
fully transgressed the regulations of the Cemetery, although pre- 
senting tickets. 

13. The gates will be opened at sunrise, and closed (for en- 
trance) at sunset. 

14. No money may be paid to the Porter, or any other person 
in the employ of the Institution, in reward for any personal ser- 
vice or attentions. 

Visitors are reminded that these grounds are sacredly devoted 
to the interment of the Dead, and that a strict observance of all 
that is proper in a place devoted to such an object, will be re- 
quired of all who visit it. 

The Keeper of the grounds having been appointed by His 
Honor the Mayor of Brooklyn a special Marshal, he is authorized 
and directed to remove all who violate these ordinances, or com- 
mit trespasses. Trespassers are also liable to criminal prosecu- 
tion, and to a fine of fifty dollars, and will also be subjected to 
pay such damages, and to repair such injuries as they may have 
occasioned. 



(General KcmarkB. 



HE Charter of this Institution was obtained 
in the spring of 1838, amended in important 
particulars the following year, and the 
grounds partially opened to visitors by the 
working of a leading avenue. It did not, 
however, commence successfully its opera- 
tions until late in the autumn of 1842. From 
^*"-«pJ Ty "^ this period improvements have been numer- 
ous and rapid. A permanent and substan- 
tial inclosure, three miles in length, has been completed ; a taste- 
ful Rustic Lodge for the Keeper and his family, has been 
erected, and a Rustic Tower with a large bell for funeral pur- 
poses, has been placed, in connection with the Lodge, near the 




GENERAL REMARKS. 23 

entrance. Immediately at the opening of the grounds, a Lodge 
for the accoinniodulion of visitors has also been erected, and 
opposite, a smaller structure, surmounted by a small bell, to sum- 
mon the Porter — together forming a rural entrance not the less 
appropriate, because simple and unpretending. Two other 
Lodges, somewhat similar in style, have also been built, one on 
Battle Hill, occupied by the superintendent of the workmen, and 
the other at the eastern extremity of the Cemetery, on Ocean 
Hill, inhabited by one of the gardeners, each with their families. 
It is intended to erect other buildings of similar appearance, at 
proper distances, along the entire boundary, thereby providing 
convenient habitations for the workmen, and also for the effec- 
tual protection of the Cemetery. An entrance has also recently 
been provided, at the southern boundary of the Cemetery, 
through which direct communication may be had with the vil- 
lages of Flatbush, New Utrecht, and other places in the vicinity. 
A beautiful Lodge, occupied by the assistant superintendent of 
the workmen, is located at this entrance. 

The avenues for carriages have nearly all been completed, 
affording suitable approach to every part of the grounds, and 
developing advantageously their natural features. 

A great number of beautiful tombs, monuments, and other 
embellishments, have been made by proprietors of lots ; and 
others, to a very considerable extent, are now in progress, all 
comparing favorably, it is believed, with those of any other cem- 
etery in this country. 

The present mode of interment in cities is becoming increas- 
ingly unsatisfactory to our citizens. A sense of insecurity, 
resultmg from the experience of the past few years, generally 
prevails. The uncertainty of legislation, at one time restricting 
interments within certain limits, and at another time removing 
these restrictions, perhaps again to be imposed — the frequent 
removal of grave-yards to make room for the occupations of busi- 
ness — the neglect and ruin which characterize many of those 
remaining, and the indecent manner in which the dead are gene- 
rally heaped upon the dead, tend to make the sensitive mind turn 
with disgust from most of the present places of city burial, and 
seek at a distance from such scenes a place of undisturbed repose 
for the loved and the lost 

" Looking forward to the time when his own dust shall return 
to earth, who would not choose some still and silent spot where 
his bones might rest in peace forever? — who would not shudder 
at the idea that his crumbling coffin and mouldering remains 
would be thrown rudely into the glare of day, as the desecrated 
grave-yard was turned, by a thrifty or careless generation, to 
more profitable uses than an abiding-place for the dead ? Men's 
thoughts are alike on these subjects ; and how-ever firm and fixed 



24 GENERAL REMARKS. 

the faith which makes the ethereal essence of the soul all that 
gives value to its clay habitation, yet our minds, when given to 
the subject, yearn after a quiet and sequestered spot as a last 
resting-place, whose verdure the plough-share will not be per- 
mitted to disturb, and to which man, when he resorts, comes not 
with projects to improve the soil, but with the holy feelings, the 
reverential awe, which the presence of the dead of his own kind 
lying thick around him is calculated to inspire." 

In Green-Wood such a spot, if any where, may surely be 
found ; and it is gratifying to observe, as indicating this belief, 
the growing interest which is manifested in its grounds by the 
community generally. The time is not distant, it is believed, 
when the citizens of New York and Brooklyn, numbering at the 
present time a half-million of people, will, to a very great extent, 
seek there a place for the undisturbed slumberings of their dead. 
With these expectations realized, even in part, scarcely any anti- 
cipations of the interest which in future years will attach to these 
rural scenes, will be deemed visionary. The varied tasteful em- 
bellishments of art blending with the beautiful in nature, all 
consecrated by, and associated with the sacred and endearing 
recollections of the departed, will awaken sweet sensibilities, and 
create in the bosoms of survivors an affection for the place which 
will strengthen with time and cease only at death. 

" Here, then, let us erect the memorials of our love, our grati- 
tude, and our glory. Here let the brave repose, who have died 
in the cause of their country. Here let the statesman rest, who 
has achieved the victories of peace, not less renowned than war. 
Here let genius find a home, that has sung immortal strains, or 
has instructed with still diviner eloquence. Here let learning 
and science, the votaries of inventive art, and the teacher of the 
philosophy of nature, come. Here let youth and beauty, blight- 
ed by premature decay, drop, like the tender blossoms, into the 
virgin earth ; and here let age retire, ripened for the harvest. 
Above all, here let the benefactors of mankind, the good, the 
merciful, the meek, the pure in heart, be congregated : for to 
them belongs an undying praise. And let us take comfort, nay, 
let us rejoice, that in future ages, long after we are gathered to 
the generations of other days, thousands of kindling hearts will 
here repeat the sublime declaration : ' Blessed are the dead that 
die in the Lord, for they rest from their labors ; and their works 
do follow them.' " 

By order of the Trustees, 

J. A. PERRY, 
Secretary and Comptroller. 



'l^ct of Jncovporation, 

PASSED APRIL 18, 1933. 
[Repealed, as far as regards the Joint Stock principle, by Act of April 11, 1839 ) 

The People of the State of New York, represented in Senate 
and Assembly, do enact as follows : 

Section 1. All persons who shall become Stockholders pur- 
suant to this Act, are hereby constituted a body corporate, by 
the name of " The Green-Wood Cemetery," for the purpose of 
establishing a Public Burial Ground in the City of Brooklyn. 

Sec. 2, The Capital Stock of the said Corporation shall be 
three hundred thousand dollars, which shall be divided into shares 
of one hundred dollars each, and shall be deemed personal pro- 
perty, and be transferable on the books of the Corporation, in 
such manner as the said Corporation shall by its By-Laws direct. 

Sec. 3. The said Corporation may, by and with the consent of 
the Mavor and Common Council of the City of Brooklyn, first 
had and obtained, acquire, take and hold a lot or tract of land 
within the City of Brooklyn, not exceeding two hundred acres, 
and may sell or otherwise dispose of such land, to be used exclu- 
sively as a Cemetery, or a place for the burial of the dead ; but 
all moneys received for, or on account of the said Capital Stock, 
shall be first applied by the said Corporation to the payment of 
the purchase money of the land acquired by the said Corporation, 
and the residue thereof, together with at least one half of the 
moneys obtained for such sales of the said lots or plots, shall be 
applied to improving or embellishing such land as a Cemetery or 
Burial Ground. 

Sec. 4. The Commissioners appointed under and by virtue of 
an Act entitled "An Act, authorizing the appointment of Com- 
missioners to lay out streets, avenues, and squares in the City of 
Brooklyn," passed April 2.3, 1835, are hereby authorized to de- 
signate on the map of the said (3ity, in and by the said Act direct- 
ed to be made and filed by said Commissioners, the lot or tract of 
land so acquired by the said Corporation, and to terminate any or 
all of the streets or avenues, at the outer boundaries thereof. 

Sec. 5. The real estate of the said Corporation, and the said . 
lots or plots, when conveyed by said Corporation, to individaul 
proprietors, shall be exempt from assessment, and not liable to be 



26 ACT OF INCORPORATION. 

sold on execution, or to be applied to the payment of debts by 
assignment under any insolvent law. 

Sec. 6. Samuel Ward, John P. Stagg, Charles King, D. B. 
Douglass, Russell Stebbins, Joseph A, Perry, Henry E. Pierre- 
pont and Pliny Freeman, shall be Commissioners to receive sub- 
scriptions for the said Capital Stock. They shall appoint a day 
and place in the cities of New- York and Brooklyn, or either, to 
receive the same. They shall prescribe the form and rules of 
said subscriptions, and cause at least fifteen days' notice thereof 
to be given in one or more of the newspapers printed in the said 
cities respectively, and at such time and place receive subscrip- 
tions therefor. And also, in case more than the whole amount is 
subscribed, they shall have power to apportion the Stock, as they 
shall think proper, among the said subscribers. And, also, in case 
the whole Stock is not then subscribed, to receive subscriptions 
therefor, until the whole is taken ; and when thirty thousand dol- 
lars of said Capital Stock shall have been paid in, said Commis- 
sioners shall give a like notice for a meeting of the Stockholders, 
at such time and place as the said Commissioners shall appoint, to 
choose from among the said Stockholders, lifteen Directors. And 
such election shall be then and there made by such of the Stock- 
holders as shall attend for that purpose, either in person or by 
lawful proxy, each share of the Capital Stock entitling a Stock- 
holder to one vote. And the said Commissioners, or any three 
of them shall be inspectors of the first election of Directors of the 
said Corporation, and shall certify under their hands the names 
of those duly elected, and deliver over the subscription books, 
moneys, and property of said Corporation to the said Directors. 
The Directors first chosen, shall fix upon the time and place of 
holding the first meeting of the Directors. A new election of 
Directors, being Stockholders, shall be made annually, at such 
time and place as the Board of Directors shall appoint. 

Sec. 7. It shall be lawful for the Directors, or a majority of 
ihem, to require payments of the sums to be subscribed to the 
Capital Stock, at such times, and in such payments, and on such 
conditions, as they, or a majority of them shall deem fit, under the 
l)enalty of the forfeiture of all previous payments thereon, and 
shall o-ive notice of the payments thus required, and of the place 
and time when the same are to be paid, at least thirty days pre- 
vious to the payment of the same, in at least two public newspa- 
jjcrs, one published in the said City of New York, and one in the 
said City of Brooklyn. 

Sec 8. The said Corporation shall possess the powers, and be 
subject to the provisions contained in Chapter 18th, of the first 
part of the Revised Statutes. 

Sec. 9. This act shall take effect immediately. 



ACT OF INCORPORATIOX. 27 

AMENDMENTS TO CHARTER, 

PASSED APRIL 11, 1839. 

The People of the State of Ncio Yoj'k, represented in Senate 
and Assembly, do enact as follows : 

Section 1. It shall be lawful for the Stockholders of the said 
"The Green-Wood Cemetery," to surrender and extinguish their 
stock in such manner as the Board of Directors shall prescribe ; 
and all persons who are aiul hereafter shall become proprietors of 
lots or parcels of ground conveyed to them l^' the said Corpora- 
tion, shall become members of the said body corporate. 

Sec. 2. The estate, property, and allairs of the said Cor|)oration 
shall be managed by fifteen Trustees, a majority of whom shall 
constitute a quorum capable of doing business. The persons now 
constituting the Board of Directors, shall be the first Trustees, 
and shall, as soon as may be after the passage of this act, or- 
ganize themselves into three equal classes. The first class, so 
organized, shall go out of office, and successors, being lot pro- 
prietors, to be chosen on the first Monday of December, one 
thousand eight hundred and forty ; the second in like manner, 
on the first Monday of December, one thousand eight hundred 
and forty-two ; and the third, in like manner, on the first Mon- 
day of December, one thousand eight hundred and forty-four ; 
and thenceforward, biennially, one class, in order, shall go out 
of office, and successors, being lot proprietors, be chosen ; pro- 
vided, that the members of the several classes shall be re-eligible 
and retain their stations until their successors are chosen. No- 
tice of such elections shall be given in one or more newspapers 
published in the cities of New York or Brooklyn, at least four- 
teen days previous to the time of holding the same. The election 
shall be by ballot, and every proprietor of a lot or parcel of 
ground of a size not less than three hundred s(|uare feet, or if 
there be more than one proprietor of any such lot or parcel, then 
such one as the proprietors of such original lot for the time being, 
or a majority of them, shall designate to represent such lot or 
parcel at such election, shall have, either in person or by proxy, 
one vote for each such lot or parcel; and the five persons, being 
lot proprietors, having a majority of all the votes given at such 
election, shall be declared duly elected Trustees. The Trustees 
of the said Corporatioti shall hereafter, in all cases, be chosen 
from among the lot proprietors, and shall have the power to fill 
any vacancy in their number that may occur during the period 
for which they hold their office. 

Sec. 3. An annual meeting of said Corporation shall be holden 
at such time and place as the By-Laws shall direct; notice where- 
of shall be given in like manner above mentioned, seven days at 



38 ACT OF IXCORPOHATION. 

least before the time of meeting. The Trustees shall make report 
to the Corporation at such annual meeting, of their doings, and 
of the management and condition, and fiscal concerns of the Cor- 
poration. 

Sec. 4. All lots or parcels of ground when conveyed, and 
designated and numbered as lots, by the said Corporation, shall 
be indivisible, but may afterwards be held and owned in undivided 
shares ; one half at least of the proceeds of all sales made by the 
said Corporation, shall be first applied to the payment of the pur- 
chase money of the land acquired by the said Corporation, and 
the residue thereof shall be applied to preserving, improving, and 
embellishing the said land as a Cemetery or burial-ground, and to 
the incidental expenses of the Cemetery estabUshment ; and after 
payment of such purchase money, the proceeds of all future sales 
shall be applied to the preservation, improvement, and embellish- 
ment of the said Cemetery and incidental expenses thereof, and 
to no other purpose whatsoever. 

Sec. 5. Any person who shall wilfully destroy, mutilate, deface, 
injure, or remove, any tomb, monument, or grave-stone, or other 
structure placed in the Cemetery aforesaid, or any fence, railing, 
or other work for the protection or ornament of the said Ceme- 
tery, or of any tomb, monument, or grave-stone, or other struc- 
ture aforesaid ; or of any Cemetery lot within the Cemetery afore- 
said ; or shall wilfully destroy, cut, break, or injure any tree, 
shrub, or plant, within the limits of the said Cemetery, shall be 
deemed guiltv of a misdemeanor, and shall upon conviction there- 
of, before any justice of the peace, or other court of competent 
jurisdiction within the county of Kings, be punished by a fine not 
less than five dollars, nor more than fifty dollars, according to the 
nature and aggravation of the offence ; and such offender shall also 
be liable, in an action of trespass to be brought against him in 
any court of competent jurisdiction, in the name of the said Cor- 
poration, to pay all such damages as shall have been occasioned 
by his unlawful act or acts ; which money, when recovered, shall 
be applied by the said Corporation, under the direction of the 
board of Trustees, to the reparation and restoration of the proper- 
ty destroyed or injured as above ; and members of the said Cor- 
poration shall be competent witnesses in such suits. 

Sec. 6. The said Corporation may take and hold any grant, 
donation or bequest of property upon trust, to apply the same or 
the income thereof under the direction of the board of Trustees, 
for the improvement or embellishment of the said Cemetery, or 
for the erection, repair, preservation or renewal of any tomb, 
monument, or grave-stone, fence, railing, or other erection, or for 
the planting and cultivation of trees, shrubs, flowers or plants in 
or around any Cemetery lot, or for improving the said premises 
in any other manner or form consistent with the design and pur- 



ACT OF INCORPORATION. 



29 



poses of this act, according to the terms of such grant, donation 
or bequest. 

Sec. 7. The said Cemetery shall be and hereby is declared 
exempted from all public taxes, so long as the same shall remain 
dedicated to the purposes of a Cemetery. 

Sec. 8. Every provision in the charter hereby altered and 
amended, which is inconsistent with the provisions of this act, is 
hereby repealed. 



FURTHER AMENDMENTS TO CHARTER, 

PASSED MAY 11, 1846. 

The People of the State of New York, represented in Senate 
and Assembly, do enact as follows: 

Sec 1. The Green-Wood Cemetery may acquire, take and 
hold land within the City of Brooklyn, or in the Town of Flat- 
bush, in the County of Kings, next adjoining thereto, not exceed- 
ing one hundred and twenty-five acres in addition to the land 
which the said Corporation is now authorized by the third section 
of the act, entitled " An Act to incorporate the Green-Wood 
Cemetery," passed April 18, 1838, to acquire, take, and hold ; 
and may hold, use, sell or otherwise dispose of the same in the 
same manner, with the same privileges, and for the same uses and 
purposes contemplated by the said act. 

Sec. 2. This act shall take effect immediately. 




PART SECOND. 



DESCRIPTIVE NOTICES 



OF 



"GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED." 

BY N. CLEAVELAKD, ESQ. 



The following Notices^ descriptive of the plates of Mr. Martiti's 
beautiful work of " Green- Wood Illustrated,^'' are inserted by per- 
mission of the author and publisher. The entire work mat/ be pro- 
cured at Mr. Martinis office, No. 46 Ann street, and at the Office 
of the Cemetery. 



(Srcm-lUoob in ISifi. 



"The hills, 
Rock-rihbed and ancient as the sun ; — the vales, 
Stretching in pensive quietness between; — 
Tlie venerable woods." — 

" and pour'd round all. 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of tlie ^eat tomb of man."— Bryant. 




T is fifteen years since Mount Auburn, near 
Boston, was set apart as a place of sepulture. 
It was the first attempt in this country to 
meet a want which had long been felt. Hap- 
pily conceived, and well executed, it soon led 
the way to similar enterprises in other cities ; 
and now, there is scarcely a large town which 
has not in its neighborhood a rural cemetery. 
To regard this great movement as merely imi- 
tative, or fashionable, would be doing it injus- 
tice. The impropriety of making interments beneath and around 
churches, and in the festering burial-grounds of cities, was gen- 
erally acknowledged. Injurious to health, offensive to the senses, 
repulsive to the taste of a refined age, the practice has become a 
confessed nuisance, which all desired, but none knew how to 
abate. Long usage, invested capital, the affections themselves, 
which make us wish to be laid by the side of those we have 
loved, — all combined to perpetuate the evil. 

The idea of a rural cemetery, sufficiently remote to be beyond 
the range of city improvements, yet so near as to be of con- 
venient access, seemetJ to reach at once all the necessities of the 
case. Large enough for the wants of many generations, it fur- 
nishes, in its guarded enclosure, full security against those viola- 
tions of the grave, by which the zeal of science or of gain has so 
often shocked public sentiment, and deeply injured the feelings 



4 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

of survivors. The vault, so unpleasant to many, might indeed be 
found here, but it would no longer be the inevitable resting-place 
of the departed. Hither wounded Affection could resort, attract- 
ing no notice, and dreading no intrusion. Here Sorrow could 
bring its graceful offerings, and Taste and Art join with Nature 
herself in adorning the last home of the loved and lost. To its 
silent solitudes the thoughtful would come to meditate ; — here the 
man of business and care would often reassure his hesitating vir- 
tue ; — and here, amid the thousand witnesses of mortality, and in 
all the soothing influences of the scene, the gay and reckless 
would read lessons of wisdom and piety. 

To the importance of this reform. New York, though some- 
what slow to move, could not but at length awake. If anywhere 
the evils alluded to were obvious and vast ; if in any city better 
accommodations were imperatively demanded, that city was em- 
phatically this great and growing metropolis. Again and again, 
in the progress of improvement, the fields of the dead had been 
Droken up, to be covered with buildings, or converted into open 
«quares. The tables of death showed that, already, nearly ten 
thousand human bodies must be annually interred ; while calcula- 
tion made it all but certain that, in half a century more, the ag- 
gregate would be told in millions. 

The island of New York presenting no secure, or at least no 
very eliaible spot for a cemetery, attention was turned to a large 
unoccupied tract in Brooklyn, lying near Gowanus Bay. As if 
providentially designed and reserved for the very use to which it 
has been put, it would be difficult to name a particular in which 
these o-rounds could have been better adapted to that use. Within 
sight of the thronged mart, and not three miles from its busiest 
haunts, Green-Wood enjoys, nevertheless, perfect seclusion. It 
is of ample extent, and there is hardly a square rod of it which 
may not be used for burial. Its numerous avenues and paths fur- 
nish a long and delightful drive, presenting continually scenes of 
varied beauty. Now you pass over verdant and sunny lawns, — 
now through park-like groves, — and now by the side of a tangled, 
unpruned forest. At one moment, you are in the dell, with its 
still waters, its overhanging shade, and its sweet repose. At the 
next, you look out from the hill-top on the imperial city, with its 
queenly daughter — on the bay, so beautiful and life-like — down 
into the quiet, rural hamlet — or beyond it, on the distant ocean. 

Green-Wood Cemetery was incorporated in 1838, but from 
various causes, did not commence successful operations till four 
years later. Its charter, with some amendments since made, em- 
braces every desirable provision for the security, permanence, and 
proper government of the Institution. 

The grovmds comprise about one hundred and eighty-five acres. 
Arrangements for extending these limits are in progress, which 
will give, when completed, an area of two hundred and fifty 



GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 5 

acres.* Although now much hirger than any otlier of our ceme- 
teries, it will scarcely, even in its fonteniplated increase, be pro- 
portioned to the wants of the threat and fast-aujjnienliu<f popula- 
tion, which it is designed to acconnnoilate. That population is 
already nearly a half-million : and if the past be prophetic of the 
future, it will take years only, or tens of years, to make New- 
York, in point of magnitude, what centuries and tens of centuries 
have made Paris and London. It is then but a wise forecast, thus 
liberally to jjrovide for the sure and fast-coming future. The 
ground will all be wanted — it will be all used. Those already 
exist, who will behold it when it shall have become a vast city of 
the Dead, outnumbering that of the living by its side. 

Only four years have elapsed since Green-Wood was publicly 
opened for interments. Within that tinie, about fourteen hundred 
lots have been sold. The avenues, which wind gracefully over 
every part of its undulating surface, for an extent of more than 
ten miles, have been put into perfect order. With a judicious 
regard to both utility and eflect, the natural conformation of the 
ground has, in many instances, been somewhat varied and im- 
proved. The trees, a prominent feature of the place, have gen- 
erally been preserved, though here and there removed, to open 
vistas through the copse, and make the grounds more available or 
more picturesque. Much work has been done in removing every 
unsightly object and obstruction, and in enriching and beautifying 
the yet unoccupied space. Of the purchased lots, a large propor- 
tion are neatly and substantially enclosed by iron paling ; while 
monuments and sepulchral structures, already numerous, and 
many of them new and beautiful in design, consecrate and em- 
bellish the ground. 

In one respect Green-Wood differs, it is believed, from every 
similar Institution; — a peculiarity which it owes, partly, to its 
ample accommodations and natural facilities, and still more, to judi- 
cious regulations adopted at the outset. Reference is made to the 
appropriation of large lots for the use of families and societies. 
Taking advantage of the natural inequalities, the summits and 
sides of the knolls have been enclosed in circles or ellipses, as 
their shape and position required. By the greater size, as well as 
by the form of these lots, and the introduction, in some cases, of 
other figures, much has been done to avoid the rigid sameness, 
which would result from a division of the whole surface into 
equal parallelograms. By giving wider spaces between the lots, 
it tends to prevent crowding and confusion, when funerals are 
numerously attended ; and though some space is lost to purposes 
of interment, it is secured for beauty and for a higher utility. 

But it is the provision which it makes for associated families, 

• These arrangements are now completed. The precise quantity of ground now 
euclos«id is two hundred and forty-two acres. 



6 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED, 

and for religious and other communities, which gives to this ar- 
rangement its chief value, Not only ma)' the single family enjoy 
the solace of feeling that they have secured for themselves one 
guarded and hallowed spot, but its kindred and affiliated branches 
can make common cause, and the ties of friendship and con- 
sanguinity shall become stronger in life, when they shall not 
seem wholly severed at the grave. 

Again, those whose bond of union has been community of sen- 
timent, — who have been associated in labors of self-improvement 
and of benevolence, — who have listened so often in the same 
sanctuary to those lessons of faith and hope, which alone can 
take from death its sting, and from the grave its victory, — may 
here lie down, the rich and the poor together, as was the wont of 
old, in their own church-yard. 

Several religious societies have secured grounds in the Ceme- 
tery, One church has already enclosed a large and handsome 
mound, and consecrated it to its use with appropriate rites. 
Around its circumference are the lots of individual members, 
while an inner circle is reserved for the Pastor and for those of 
humbler means. It was a happy and a Christian thought, to pro- 
vide for their poorer brethren, when the toils of life shall be over, 
an unexpensive resting-place, as respectable and beautiful as their 
own. The example is well worthy of imitation. 



®l)c €ntrame. 

" Enter this wild-wood, 
And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade 
Shall brinp a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze 
That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm 
To thy sick heart." 

REEN-WOOD occupies a portion of the 
high ground which separates Gowanus 
Bay from the plains of Flatbush, The 
most agreeable, though not the shortest 
route, is the ancient road running from 
^^,, Brooklyn along the western shore of Long 
'-^ Island to Fort Hamilton, At the distance 
\ of two and a half miles from the South 
Ferry, a short, straight avenue leads from 
the main street of Gowanus to the gate. 
The entrance is perfectly simple. On the left of the gate is a 
rustic lodge, for the temporary accommodation of visitors. On 




THE ENTRANCE, 7 

the right, and in the same style, is a small tower, with a bell to 
summon the porter. These unambitious structures will be found 
in good keeping with each other, and with the position they oc- 
cupy. They possess beauty of form, and of litness likewise. Per- 
haps some, accustomed to more imposing entrances, may feel 
disappointed by the modest humility of this. But may not the 
taste at least be questioned, which makes the passage-way from 
one open space to another, through some lofty arch, or massive 
building? Can such a structure look well, with no support on 
either side of it but an ordinary fence ? Must it not always lack 
the beauty of adaptation to an end — the essential beauty of use- 
fulness ? And if it be, as most frequently, of Grecian or Egyptian 
model, is it not incongruous with the spirit and associations of a 
Christian cemetery ? Of the simple entrance temporarily made for 
these grounds, we may at least say, that here Art raises no false 
expectation, nor does it offend by unnatural contrasts. But, enter. 
If the artificial portal be deficient in dignity, not so will you find 
that of Nature. You are now in a vestibule of her own making. 
Its floor is a delicious greensward ; its walls are the steep hill- 
side ; lofty trees, with their leafy capitals, form its colonnade ; 
and its ceiling is the azure vault. Here, if alive to gentle in- 
fluences, you will pause a moment. You will shake from your 
feet the city's dust, and leave behind you its cares and follies. 
You are within the precinct of a great primeval temple, now for- 
ever set apart to pious uses. You have come, 

" Not to the domes where eruiiiblinff arch and column 

Attest the feebleness of mortal hand ; 
But to that fane most catholic and solemn, 

Which God hath planned." 

Explore its aisles and courts, — survey its beauties, — breathe its 
fresh air, — enjoy its quiet, — drink in its music, — and lay to heart 
its lessons of mortality, as well as its higher teachings of faith and 
love. 




SI)C Keeper's Coige. 



■ A voice from ' the Green- Wood !' — a voice I and it said, 
' Ye have chosen me out as a home for your dead, 
From the bustle of life ye have rendered me free ; 
My earth ye have hallow'd ; henceforth I shall be 
A garden of graves, where your loved ones shall rest !' " 




N the left of the avenue, and just beyond 
the entrance, stands the Keeper's Lodge. 
It is a cottage in the rustic, pointed style, 
with four gables. The sides are of plank 
uprights, battened with cedar poles, rough 
from the forest. Its whole exterior is un- 
smoothed and unpainted, yet it is symmet- 
rical and picturesque. Embowered in the 
grove, and already looking old enough to 
be coeval with the trees that shade it, its entire aspect is in harmo- 
ny with the place and its associations. In such a home, we some- 
times imagine, might have been found, long ago, near the church- 
yard of some quiet hamlet in our fatherland, one of those immor- 
tal sextons, whose occupation and quaint humor genius has loved 
to depict. 

Hard by, a tower of the same primitive order supports a bell, 
which is rung whenever a funeral train enters the grounds. 
This is a custom hallowed by its own appropriateness, as well as 
by long and general observance. In cities, the tolling of bells 
for the dead has, as a matter of necessity, been long discontinued. 
In country villages, however, the usage still prevails. The deep 
tones of the bell in Green-Wood, penetrating its dells, and echo- 
ing from its hills, are the only sounds that reach the mourner's 
ear, as he follows some dear object to the tomb. Often, we 
know, at such times, this unexpected but still familiar sound has 
touched the springs of memory and feeling, carrying back the 
mind to the homely scenes, but bright hours of childhood, — to 
the far-off, native vale, — to that knell from the village steeple, 
which once called the reminiscent to weep over some sweet 
flower, cut down in its morning beauty, — and to that humble 
grave-yard, where, bedewed with tears of veneration and love, a 
father and mother now sleep, side by side. 



THE keeper's lodge. 

A mournful office is thine, old bell, 
To ring forth nuuglit but the last sad knell 
Of the coffin'd worm, as he passeth by, — 
And thou secmcst to say, Ye all must die ! 

No joyful peal dost thou ever ring ; 

But ever and aye, as hither they bring 

The dead to sleep 'neath the " Green- Wood" tree, 

Thy voice is heard, pealing mournfully. 

No glad occasion dost thou proclaim — 
Thy mournful tone is ever the same ; — 
The slow, measured peal that tells of wo 
Such as those who feel it may only know. 

Had thy tongue the power of speech, old bell, 
Methinks strange stories 'twould often tell; 
How some are brought hither with tear and moan, 
While others pass by, unuiourn'd, alone ; — 

How strangers are hither brought to sleep, 
Whose home, perchance, was beyond the deep ; 
W"ho, seeking our shore, came but to die, 
And here in this hallow'd spot to lie ; — 

How a wife hath follow'd a husband's bier, — 
How a husband hath followed a wife most dear, — 
How brother and sister have come, in turn, 
To shed a tear o'er a parent's urn ; — 

How the victim of sorrow's ceaseless smart 
Hath given up life with a willing heart, 
And thought of this spot with a smiling face, 
Glad at last to find him a resting-place. 

I wonder if thou dost ring, old bell. 
For the rich man a louder, longer knell. 
Than thou dost for the poor who enter here, 
On the humble and unpretending bier? 

And dost thou ring forth a peal less sad 
For the pure and good, than for the bad 7 
Or dost thou toll the same knell for all— 
The rich and the poor, the great and small 7 

Oh, a mournful office is thine, old bell ! 
To ring forth naught but the last sad knell 
Of the coffin'd worm, as he passeth by, — 
And thou seemest to say. Prepare to die 

Arthur MoRnEi.L. 




|)0cr6 iltounlr. 

" From every tree and every bush 
There seems to breathe a soothing hush ; 
While every transient sound but shows 
How deep and still is the repose." 



YLVAN WATER is a permanent and deep 
pond of about four acres. The visitor, as 
he passes along the elevated summit of its 
northern border, catches, through the foli- 
age, occasional glimpses of its bright surface. 
A winding descent soon brings him to its 
margin, and to a scene of beauty and still- 
ness where he will love to linger. Except 
on the western side, the grounds about it 

are precipitous and high, and all round they are closely wooded. 

The trees and shrubs form, indeed, a perfect wall of verdure to 

this secluded little lake, while 

" The soft wave, as wrapt in slumber, lies 
Beneath the forest shade." 

He who stands upon its verge sees only water, woods, and sky. 
He hears naught but the notes, plaintive or lively, of scores of 
birds, which haunt this dell, and at times fill it with their music. 
To the weary and worn citizen, it may well seem the very ideal 
of solitude — a charming picture of repose. Ever since he entered 
these green-wood shades, lie has been sensibly getting farther and 
farther away from strife, and business, and care ; at every step he 
has become more and more imbued with the gentle spirit of the 
place. But here he finds the illusion and the charm complete. 
A short half-hour ago, he was in the midst of a discordant Babel ; 
he was one of the hurrying, jostling crowd ; he was encompassed 
by the whirl and fever of artificial life. Now he stands alone, in 
Nature's inner court — in her silent, solenm sanctuary. Her holi- 
est influences are all around him, and his heart whispers, It is 
good to be here ! 

The monument represented in the plate occupies a small knoll 
on the northern edge of Sylvan Water, and is a tribute paid by 
friendship to the memory of a child of misfortune. " The poor 



OCEAN HILL. 



11 



inhabitant below " was the possessor of talents which, had his 
mind and atlections been better discipHned, might have won for 
him distinction. But his eftbrts were desultory and unequal. He 
became an unhappy wanderer, — his own and others' dupe, — till 
at length reason tottered, and life sunk under the weight of dis- 
appointment. 

" Unskilful he to note the card 
Of prudent lore, 
Till billows raged, and gales blew hard, 
And whelmed him o'er." 

The monument is of white marble — a square block, supporting 
a truncated pyramid. On the northern face of the die is a profile 
likeness of the poet, in high relief. 

McDonald Clarke was born June 18, 1798, and died March 
5, iai3. 



©ccau l^ill. 

' In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene 
The spectacle, how pure ! Of Nature's works 
In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea, 
A revelation beautiful it seems. 




HIS is one of the most elevated spots in the 
'^ Cemetery. It occupies the north-eastern 
corner of the grounds. Its western and 
southern sides are steep. Towards the east 
it declines gently to the plain. The princi- 
pal avenue, called the Tour, conducts you to 
its summit, and you find yourself near the 
northern extremity of a beautiful and com- 
manding ridge. On the north and south, the prospect is bounded 
by copse-wood. Through the trees on the western side, may be 
caught occasional glimpses of the pleasant lawn which you have 
just crossed. Toward the east the view is unobstructed and 
wide. From the base of the hill stretch far away the plains of 
Flatbush and New Utrecht. Below, a short mile distant, lies the 
little village of Flatbush, — an image of quiet life, — with its white 
dwellings and simple spire ; the Pavilion at Rockaway, some ten 
miles ofi", is clearly seen ; while the sea itself, with here and there 
a sail, terminates the view. 

The beauties of the eminence seem to be appreciated. Most 
of the lots on its summit have been already taken and improved. 
The objects delineated in the plate are those which present them- 
selves to one who, having kept along the Tour from the west, has 



12 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

just gained the summit of the hill. The monuments and the cot- 
tage at once arrest the eye, and the agreeable impression which 
they make is due, perhaps, not less to their harmonious grouping, 
than to their individual beauty. Of the three principal monu- 
ments here given, the material is the same, and the style is so far 
similar, as to require that they should be classed in one family. 
Yet are they specifically distinct — each having its peculiar merit, 
and forming a study by itself. The two which are seen in the 
foreground, were among the earliest of the erections in Green- 
Wood. The novelty of the designs — their graceful outline — and 
the high finish of the work, united with a height and magnitude 
which give dignity and eflfect — have drawn to them much atten- 
tion. They set, in this respect, a good example, and they have 
unquestionably had an influence on the taste and style of many 
subsequent improvements. They showed that there are beautiful 
and fitting forms for sepulchral memorials, besides the obelisk, 
or even the more graceful and classic pillar and sarcophagus. 
They evinced that a pleasing variety in details is consistent with 
the same scope of general design, and that in art, as elsewhere, 
genius is not confined to one idea, nor prone to make fac-similes 
of its own works. The fault of servile imitation in such matters 
has been far too common, and a tame monotony is its inevitable 
effect. 

The material employed is the compact, red sandstone from 
New Jersey, first brought into use in the erection of Trinity 
Church. The toughness of this stone, and the closeness of its 
grain, make it, in the plastic hand of the carver, almost if not 
quite equal to the best marble. No other stone furnished by our 
quarries, and of equal or even similar facility under the tool, can 
resist, it is believed, so well, the defacing and destructive effects 
of our humid and frosty atmosphere, and its ever-changing tem- 
perature. If in its youth the free-stone structure be less brilliant 
and attractive than that of marble, it certainly bears its age 
better. Its surface is less liable to accretions and stains ; and 
those which it does incur, instead of appearing like streaks and 
patches of dirt, sullying the lustre of that which should be clean 
and bright, are but time-honored hues and shades, making it 
more beautiful. These two lots occupy a somewhat salient angle 
formed by the road, and are, in form, spherical triangles. The 
coping, which supports a low, neat paling, and the posts at the 
corners, are of the same stone with the principal structures. The 
form and finish of these minor parts, and even the grading and 
shaping of the ground, show that minute attention to particulars 
which is so essential to harmony and fulness of effect. 

The monument on the left* is a tripod in the Roman style, sup- 
ported on the corners by richly carved, antique trusses, and rest- 

♦ Erected by Mr. .John Clcaveland. 



INDIAN MOUND. 



13 



ing on a boldly moulded base course. The die has, on each of its 
faces, a tablet with circular head. The mouldings of its cornice 
are simple, but ell'ective, and it is surmounted by a well-propor- 
tioned urn. Its height is about fourteen feet. 

On one of the tablets is recorded the death of a young mother, 
and that of an only and infant child, which occurred not long be- 
fore her own. To this simple statement are appended these words 
from II. Kings, iv. 26: — "Is it well with thee? Is it well with 
the child? And she answered. It is well." 

The right-hand monument* rests upon a square base, with 
prominent mouldings. The die diminishes upward by a gentle 
curve ; its angles are enriched by a graceful scolloped leaf, and 
its cornice is encircled by carved mouldings. Above this, the 
form changes from square to circular, and a fine urn completes 
the design. 

On the northern side, standing out in strong relief, is a female 
bust. This face, beautifully executed by Mancini, shows admira- 
bly the capacities of the stone for expressive sculpture ; and 
though not intended as a likeness, it calls strongly up the image 
of that young wife, who, taken from life in the midst of youth, 
and health, and hope, now rests beneath. 



3uMau inounfr. 



" thou who o'er thy friend's low bier, 

Sheddest the bitter drops lilve rain, 

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere, 
Will give her to thy arms again." 




HE grave of Do-hum->ie is under the lofty 
\ trees that shade the northern border of Syl- 
A'an Lake. The earth around it, hard-trod- 
den by a thousand feet, bears constant tes- 
timony to the sympathy which a tale and 
fate like hers never fail to awaken. The 
impression which her extraordinary grace 
and beauty made on those who saw her 
here, is still retained by many, and justifies the glowing picture 
which IS given in the folhjwing sketch. The description may be 
relie-d on, for it is lurnished by one who knew her in her happi- 
ness, and who deserted her not when she was sick and (lyinir. 
Through the same kind instrumentality, a neat marble monumtMit 
was placed over the dead. On the southern side of the die, a 



♦ Erected by Mr. G. M. Atwater. 



14 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

figure in relief, of beautiful workmanship, by Launitz, represents 
her bereaved warrior, attempting to hide while he betrays his 
grief. Upon another side is the record of her parentage : 

DO-HUM-ME, 

DAUGHTER OP 

NAN-NOUCE-PUSH-EE-TOE, 

A CHIEF OF THE SAC INDIANS. 

A third side is thus inscribed : 

DO-HUM-ME, 

WIFE OF 

COW-HICK-KEE, 

A YOUNG WARRIOR OF THE lOWAS. 

Upon the fourth side is the following inscription : 

Pictr 

IN NEW YORK, 

MARCH 9TII, 1843. 
AGED 18 YEARS. 

"Thou'rt happy now, for thou hast past 
The cold, dark journey of the grave ; 
And in the land of light at last, 
Hast join'd the good, the fair, the brave." 



BY MBS. C. M. SAWYER. 

Do-HUM-ME, as her monument briefly sets forth, was the 
daughter of a chieftain of the Sacs, and the wife of a young war- 
chief of the lowas. But from the obscurity which always, to a 
certain extent, rests over the history of individuals of savage 
nations, her biography, with all the aids which have been obtained 
from those who knew her, must necessarily be but a meager 
outline. 

Of her childhood little is known, save that its one great be- 
reavement, the death of her mother, left her at the early age of 
seven years, cut oft' from all that watchful care, those tender en- 
dearments, which make childhood so happ)-, and which none but 
a mother knows so well how to render. But He who seeth the 
wants of the lowliest of his children, knoweth also how to provide 
for them ; and He awoke in the breast of the remaining parent of 
Do-hum-me, a strange, subduing tenderness, which to the Indian 
warrior is all unwonted ; and the heart of the stern old chief, 
whose necklace numbered more scalplocks than that of any other 
of his tribe, grew soft as a woman's when he looked upon his 



INDIAN MOUND, 15 

motherless child, until even the hunling-path and the council-fire 
were forgotten tor her sake. No toil was too exhausting, no sac- 
rifice too great to be endured for her. 

Thus, under the eye of paternal watchfulness, Do-hum-me, si- 
lently as the flowers of her own bright prairies, sprang up to 
womanhood. Possessing in an uncommon degree those traits of 
beauty most prized by her race — ever gentle and good-humored — 
she was the idol of her father, and the favorite of her tribe. Mo- 
notonous and uneventful her life must necessarily have been until 
Jier eighteenth year, when a new, and, as it eventuated, fatal era, 
occurred in her existence. 

Prompted partly by a desire of adjusting some land difficulties 
at Washington, partly by a curiosity to behold the great cities of 
the white men, and partly by the artful and interested representa- 
tions of the designing and needy, a delegation of the Sacs and 
lowas camo to the determination of visiting our Atlantic shores. 
Do-hum-mc, under her father's care, with two other females much 
older than herself, one of whom was a niece of the celebrated 
Black Hawk, accompanied them. 

During their journey from the Far West, an affection sprang 
up between the youthful subject of this sketch and a young chief 
of the lowas, which soon ripened into an intimacy ending in mar- 
riage. The interesting ceremony which united them was per- 
formed at Paterson, according to their own rites, and in the pres- 
ence of their tribe, and a number of white persons who had be- 
come interested by the beauty and amiable deportment of the 
youthful couple. Soon after their marriage they arrived in New 
York, where they attracted great attention, not less by their 
beauty and gracefulness, than by their undisguised affection for 
one another. They were never separated ; — proud of each other, 
loving and happy, the animated smile of the bridegroom, and the 
gay, musical laugh of the bride, were a joy to all beholders. 
Gifts were showered upon them from all quarters, and the jewelry 
of Do-hum-me might have been coveted by many a fairer-hued 
bride. 

But a dark cloud arose on the horizon of their wedded bliss, 
and their marriage-torch went suddenly out in darkness. Unac- 
customed alike to the luxuries of civilized life, which by well- 
meaning but misjudging friends were too lavishly heaped upon 
them, and the whirl and bustle by which they were continually 
surrounded, Do-hum-me suddenly fell a victim to her new and 
false position. A violent cold, contracted one stormy evening to 
which they were exposed, superadded to indisposition produced 
by the causes already alluded to, at once assumed the alarming 
character of inflammation ; congestion ensued, and in a few brief 
hours, all was over. 

Thus died Do-hum-me, a stranger, and in a strange land. Far 
away from all familiar things and places, in a little more tb:>i' 



16 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

four weeks from her bridal, she passed to her burial. Almost de- 
serted in her death, for the two females who had accompanied her 
from her home had already found a grave, the one dying in a hos- 
pital of Philadelphia, the other but three weeks before in New 
York, — and the thousands who had come around them to gaze and 
wonder, at the rumor of a contagious disease having broken out 
among the hapless company, had without exception taken flight, — 
one only of her own sex, whose sympathies were stronger than 
all fear, stood by her side, to administer to her wants, to soothe 
her last moments, and to close her eyes when all was over. , 

An attempt to describe this last sad scene would be utterly fu- 
tile. The helpless bewilderment — the agony, almost despair, of 
the doting father and husband — their piteous wails and sobs — the 
irrepressible tears which, unwiped, flowed down their dusky 
cheeks, altogether formed a picture which can never be forgotten, 
and which forever disproves the oft-told tale of the Indian's cold- 
ness and stoicism. 

In the same gay ornaments with which, with a girlish pride, 
Do-hum-me had adorned herself for her bridal, she was again 
decked for the grave ; and it was with no other feeling than that 
of reverence and grief, that the hand of civilization aided that of 
the savage, in braiding the dark locks, and circling the neck of 
the bride of death with the sparkling chain and gay and flashing 
gem. She was followed to her last resting-place by those dearest 
to her in life, as well as by that friend whom Providence directed 
to her bedside in the last bitter hour of dissolution. There, in a 
spot aptly chosen for the grave of the forest girl, she reposes in 
the last, dreamless slumber. She hears not the ocean-winds that 
sigh around her green-roofed dwelling ; the footsteps of the fre- 
quent pilgrim disturb her not ; — for, let us believe that, according 
to her own simple faith, her spirit is lovingly, patiently waiting, 
in some far-off but happy sphere, till those she so loved on earth 
shall join her, never more to be separated. 

THE FOREST CHILD. 

BY Mns. SAWYEK. 

By the banks of Sylvan Water, 

Where the Green-wood shadows rest, 
Sleepeth Iowa's young dauijhter, 

In a mournful mother's breast ! 
In a mother's breast that never 

Groweth harsh, or stern, or cold, — 
liOek'd in arms that will forever 

Tenderly their child enfold ! 

Summer winds abovo her sisrhing 

Softly kiss the drooping flowers 
Summer rains, like lutes replying, 

Make sweet music to the hours 



INDIAN MOUND. 17 

Winter snows, around her falling, 

Kobe the dell, the copse, and hill ; 
Spirits through the storm are calling — 

But the maiden sleepeth still! 

In a far-land, where the prairie, 

Stretch'd in boundless beauty, lies, 
Lovely as a woodland fairy, 

Open'd she at first her eyes ; 
Many a sweet fiower, round her springing, 

Gladness to her bosom lent; 
Many a bright bird, o'er her winging. 

With her own its carol blent ! 

Eyes that watch'd her sinless childhood, 

Brighter beam'd when she appenr'd ; 
Hearts that braved for her the wild-wood, 

Toil or peril never fear'd ! 
Thus, with sky and forest o'er her, 

Grew to maidenhood the child, 
While the light of love before her, 

On her path in beauty smiled ! 

From that far-land came she hither ; 

Hearts long loved were by her side ; 
But we saw her fade and wither. 

Till, like summer flowers, she died ! 
To her sylvan couch we bore her. 

When the twilight shadows fell; 
Softly smooth'd the gieen turf o'er her, 

Where in death she slumbers well ! 

Stricken bride ! amid the places 

Thou didst love, thy grave should be,— 
Here, of all thepale-hued faces, 

Who, save one, has wept for thee 1 
Lo ! I hear a sound of anguish 

From the far Missouri's shore — 
'Tis the voice of those who languish. 

That they see thy face no more ! 

There thy sire all lowly sitteth. 

Weeping sadly and alone ; 
There thy hunter still forgetteth 

Those that live for one that's gone ! 
Peace be round their lonely pillow. 

In that far-off, western wild ! 
Thou, beside the ocean-willow, 

Sweetly sleep, poor Forest-child ! 

2 



Ban-@roDe C^ill. 

" The city bright below ; and far away, 
Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay. 
♦ *♦♦**♦ 

Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement, 
And banners floating in the sunny air; 

And while sails o'er the bright blue waters bent ; 
Green isle, and circling shore, are blended there 

In wild reality." 




WO of the plates in this number are repre- 
sentations of tombs* situated near the sum- 
mit of Bay-grove Hill. The material, the 
elaborate execution, and more than all, the 
commanding position of these structures 
make them particularly prominent and at- 
tractive. The beautiful eminence which they 
occupy is not far from the entrance. The 
view from this spot will detain the visitor a moment. An open- 
ing- on his left reveals to him the lower bay, Staten Island, and 
the Narrows. Another, in front, reaches across the harbor, and 
is bounded by the masts, spires, and dwellings of New York and 
Brooklyn. The little dell which he has just passed, with its 
shady water, is immediately below. Here, with a city of the 
living before him, and another of the dead growing up around, the 
charm of contrast is felt in its power. Here are presented, as it 
were, side by side, art and nature — bustle and repose — life and 
death ; while each quiet sail, moving but noiseless, seems a fit me- 
dium of communication between them. 



" To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. 
And read their history in a nation's eyes." 

The remains of De Witt Clinton repose temporarily in one 
of the tombs on Bay-grove Hill. They were laid here in the 
expectation that they would soon find a final resting-place in 
some commanding portion of the ground, and beneath a monu- 
ment worthy of his great name, and of the city and common- 
wealth which owe so much to him. But this tribute to the mem- 
ory and services of her most distinguished benefactor, New York 



Erected by F. W. Hurd, M.D., and the family of the late Jordan Coles. 



BAY-GROVE HILL. 19 

has yet to pay. A bcginnin<^, indeed, has been effected by the 
proffer of a few liberal contributions, but no general and earnest 
call has yet been made. To such a call, this great and wealthy 
community will doubtless respond with its wonted liberality. 

As this duty, which has too long remained unfulfilled, may soon 
be urged anew, a brief glance at the services and character of 
Clinton may serve to remind some, and to inform others, of his 
pre-eminent claims to such commemoration. 

De Witt Clinton was born 1769, at Little Britain, a small 
town in the pastoral valley of the Walkill. His grandfather, 
Charles Clinton, though of English descent, came to this country 
from Ireland, in 1729, At the capture of Fort Frontenac, dur- 
ing the French and Indian war, he was at the head of a regiment, 
while two of his sons, James, the father of De Witt, and George, 
afterward Governor of New York, and Vice-president of the 
United States, held subordinate commands. In the war of Inde- 
pendence, James Clinton was a general officer, and again did his 
country service. 

Thus honored in his origin and connections, De Witt gave 
early promise of eminence on his own account. He was one of 
the first class graduated at Columbia College, after it was re- 
opened subsequently to the Revolution. He studied law with 
the celebrated Samuel Jones, and in due course was admitted to 
the bar. At this conjuncture, his uncle, George Clinton, then 
Governor of New York, proposed to him to become his private 
secretary. Yielding his golden prospects in the law, to conside- 
rations of duty and gratitude, he accepted the place, and thus 
plunged at once into the restless sea of political life. Adopting, 
from conviction, the anti-federal opinions of his uncle, he de- 
fended them as a matter of duty ; and it is highly creditable to 
his power as a writer, that he was thought by multitudes to main- 
tain his ground, although his antagonists were the immortal 
authors of the "Federalist," From 1797 to 1801, he was a 
member of the State legislature, and the acknowledged leader of 
his party. He was opposed, generally, to the national adminis- 
tration of that period, but not with a bitter or undiscriminating 
hostility. In 1801, being only thirty-two years old, he was 
elected senator of the United States, In this august body, he at 
once took high rank as a statesman and debater. In 1803 he 
was appointed mayor of New York, and, with the exception of 
two years, continued to hold that responsible post until 1815. 

By virtue of this office, as then constituted, he was the head 
of the city police, chief judge of the criminal court and common- 
pleas, and chairman of tlie board of health, with a large patronage 
at his sole disposal. In the discharge of these various and oner- 
ous duties, his course seems to have been uniformly firm, and 
able, and honest. During a large portion of the same period, he 
was also a member of the New York Legislature. Though 



20 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

sharing largely in the political conflicts of those exciting times, 
he gave to objects of public and lasting utility his great personal 
and official influence. 

Statesmanship was, with him, no narrow, selfish policy, look- 
ing only to the advancement of individual interests, or the exten- 
sion and consolidation of party power. To every scheme of 
benevolence and improvement, well intended and well devised, 
he lent his willing aid. The weather-beaten old sailor, resting 
at last in his "Snug Harbor," with the name of Randall may 
gratefully join that of Clinton, as having made secure to him his 
comfortable home. The Bloomingdale Asylum for the Insane 
was founded by grants, which Clinton proposed and carried. 
The first establishment in New York for the encouragement of 
the fine arts, obtained its charter through his agency, and was 
ever after an object of his care. Many instances of his benevo- 
lence and public spirit are of necessity omitted ; but one great 
benefaction, belonging to this period of his life, must not be 
passed by. The Free School Society, which became the seminal 
])rinciple and the nucleus of that great system of public instruc- 
tion by which the State now gives an education to her million 
of children, was devised by De Witt Clinton. By his exertions 
a charter was obtained — private subscriptions were secured — the 
city corporation was enlisted in its favor — and finally, a liberal 
grant was made by the State. How humble the beginning — • 
how magnificent the result ! It may well be doubted whether 
even the far-reaching mind which conceived the plan, ever an- 
ticipated the mighty issue of this generous endeavor to provide 
free schools for the neglected children of New York. To every 
wise and well-meant effort for human improvement, this example 
is a perpetual voice of cheering and promise. 

Though enough has been adduced in even these brief details, 
to show that De Witt Clinton might well rank among the great 
and good, it is not on these grounds that his renown chiefly rests. 
His attention seems to have been first turned to the subject of 
improving the internal communications of New York in 1809. 
Being at that time the acknowledged leader of the democratic 
party in the State Senate, he was invited by Judge Piatt, who 
held the same position on the federal side, to co-operate in pro- 
curing the appointment of a commission for examining and sur- 
veying the country between the Hudson and Lake Erie, with 
reference to uniting these waters by a canal. He assented, and 
these rival aspirants — would that such spectacle might be oftener 
seen ! — rising above the selfishness and jealousies of parties, 
joined heart and hand in this great undertaking. In the follow- 
ing summer, as one of the commissioners, he examined the entire 
route, and from that time, never doubted the importance or feasi- 
bility of the work. In 1812, the prospects of the enterprise, 
which up to that time had been highly auspicious, were inter- 



DE WITT CLINTON. 21 

rupted by the commencement of hostilities with England. In 
1815 the storm of war had passed away, but the position of par- 
ties and of individuals was, in many instances, greatly altered. 
The liuctuating tide of popular favor, on whose topmost wave 
Clinton had so long ridden, had now subsided, leaving him 
stranded on the shore. But though out of office — though dis- 
carded by the party which he had served and led — he possessed 
still that better influence, which high talent, well and steadily 
devoted to the public good, never fails to acquire. This soon 
became manifest. He drew up a memorial, exhibiting the prac- 
ticability and usefulness of the proposed canal ; the expediency 
of constructing it, though it should yield no revenue; the proba- 
ble cost, and the unquestionable ability of the State to meet it. 
Its lucid statements and convincing argument carried conviction 
everywhere. Its presentation to the Legislature was soon fol- 
lowed by the act of 17th April, 181G, "to provide for the im- 
provement of the internal navigation of the State." He was 
appointed one of the five commissioners constituted by this act, 
and entered forthwith upon the work. 

The star of Clinton was clearly again in the ascendant. The 
office of governor having become vacant in 1817, he was raised 
to the chair by a vote nearly unanimous. The change was won- 
derful. Old party lines could no longer be found. The golden 
age had returned. Such was the pleasing dream of many who 
beheld the treacherous calm. But not then, assuredly, had par- 
ties in New York acquired the graceful art, 

" To rise with dignity, with temper fall." 

The sweet harmony of consenting voices, which had so lately 
charmed all ears, was soon changed to harsh discord. Discon- 
tents arose. New combinations of party were formed. Gover- 
nor Clinton and his measures were strongly opposed. Even the 
canal was not spared. Faction, in its frothy violence, could find 
for this most magnificent of human enterprises, no worthier 
designation than that of " the big ditch." 

From this acrimonious contest Clinton came out victorious, 
but with a diminished majority. His second term of office was 
one protracted battle. A majority of the Legislature was un- 
friendly. His political opponents were able, as well as numerous 
and active. Weary, at length, of the unprofitable struggle and 
thankless honor, he declined a third trial, and retired to private 
life. 

During all these fluctuations of the political world, the canal, 
that great object of his care and ambition, went steadily forward. 
His .ible and unpaid services as senior commissioner had been 
devoted to the work through its whole progress. Yet in 1824, 
when it was nearly completed — when it had already become a 



22 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

source of revenue to the State, and of unexampled prosperity to 
the regions which it traversed, and those which it connected, 
CUnton, to whom this great success was almost wholly due, was 
removed by a legislative vote from his place as canal commis- 
sioner. No want of capacity or fidelity was, or could be alleged. 
Not even a pretext was assigned. It was the sovereign act of 
politicians in power, mistaking, for the moment, the character 
and sentiments of a great people. No leading-strings of party 
could drag them to approve what seemed a manifest injustice. 
The indignation was general. Clinton was immediately put in 
nomination for the chief magistracy ; and his election by an over- 
whelming majority, assured him that gratitude and honor yet 
survived. 

In October, 1826, the final completion of the Erie canal was 
celebrated with great rejoicings. It is easier to conceive than to 
describe the emotions which must have swelled the heart of Clin- 
ton, during that long, triumphal voyage from Buffalo to New 
York, when the virgin Nereid of our great inland seas was con- 
ducted to her bridal with the Ocean-king. It was the consum- 
mation of that enterprise to which, for more than fourteen years 
he had consecrated his time and strength, his pen and voice. To 
effect it, he had endured not only anxiety and fatigue, but even 
obloquy and proscription. Now, with evidence so ample that, at 
last, those exertions were widely and deeply appreciated, the 
measure of his actual fame might well fill even his great ambi- 
tion. And still he must have known that the benefits of the canal 
with Avhich his name was now inseparably twined, had only begun 
to be felt. Rich as was the freight which it already wafted to the 
sea, its commerce was as yet but the mountain rivulet, which, 
swelled at length by a thousand tributaries, would roll on, a 
mighty tide, and freshen the Atlantic with its Amazon of waters. 

His useful career was now approaching its close. Again elected 
to the chief magistracy, he entered on his last term of office in 
1827. In the autumn of that year his health began to fail. His 
disease did not, however, prevent him from attending to his of- 
ficial and daily duties, down to the very hour of his departure, 
which occurred suddenly, February 15, 1828. No palsied ener- 
gies, no streams of dotage, marked the closing scene. He was 
still high in station and respect ; — still cheered by the gratitude 
and admiralior of his countrymen ; — full as ever of benevolent 
and sagacious plans and deeds — when the summons came. From 
that height of undiminished usefulness of influence and fame, he 
dropped into the tomb. 

Twenty years have passed since Clinton died. Time, magic 
healer ! has salved the wounds of political strife, and the sober 
light of historic truth, neither dimmed nor deflected by the mists 
of contemporary prejudice, shines at length upon his life and 
character. Interested partisans have ceased to lavish on his name 



DE WITT CLINTON. 23 

praises not deserved, and disappointed enemies no longer de- 
nounce it. 

That his abilities were of a high order, was perhaps never 
questioned. The well-contested fields of parly strife, — the sta- 
tions of honorable and laborious responsibility which he adorned 
and dignified, — the enterprises of broad and permanent usefulness 
which he achieved, establish the point. There have been ordinary 
men of popular and plausible talents, who have gained a short- 
lived reputation for greatness. Such was the case with some of 
Clinton's successful competitors for power and place. What are 
they now ? Hardly can we say " stat nominis umbra !" But Clin- 
ton was of another stamp. His ideas were vast, and his works, 
commensurate with the conceptions in which they originated, retain 
the impress of a master-hand. His renown, accordingly, was no 
ephemeral growth. The tree, deep-rooted and wide-branching, 
while it has expanded and grown fairer in the air and sunshine, 
has also been tested and strengthened by the very blasts that have 
shaken it. 

His mind was distinguished by its massive strength, rather 
than by variety or flexibility of power. It could grasp strongly 
subjects of high import and wide extent, retaining and revolving 
them, until it had mastered their minutest details. The cast of 
his intellect was decidedly practical. His imagination, if not 
naturally feeble, had lost its activity under early and hai)itual 
restraint. All the more, perhaps, was his judgment cool and dis- 
criminating. His untiring industry enabled him to bring to his 
investigations all that learning could contribute, while his power 
to analyze and recombine, helped him to turn those treasures to 
the most eftective account. Hence the wisdom of his plans, and 
his almost prophetic anticipation of results. Hence he had none 
of the dreams of the mere visionary, nor the dazzling schemes of 
an enthusiast. How difTerent might have been the issue of the 
canal enterprise in New York, had not the wild notions and spe- 
cious eloquence of Governeur Morris been counteracted by the 
clear head, and strong good sense of De Witt Clinton ! That vast 
project, which, under favorable auspices, became the boast and 
wonder of the age, might have perished, a still-born folly, or, if 
attempted, could have ended only in utter failure. 

The wisdom which was so conspicuous in selecting the points 
to be connected, and the region to be traversed by the proposed 
canal, as well as in the plan and prosecution of the work, was 
even more signally manifest in that financial basis upon which, 
through the same influence, it was made to rest. To the exer- 
tions of Clinton, New York owes it, that, adopting the only hon- 
est and safe course in such matters, she has retained her credit as 
well as prosperity, — while other States, following the example of 
her improvements, but trusting to the income from their works, 



24 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

for the liquidation of their debts, have involved tliemselves in per- 
plexing and discreditable embarrassment. 

Though eminent as a statesman, — though unequalled in that 
ability which could devise and execute works of public and lasting 
beneht, — his merit was not confuied to these departments. He 
had a strong predilection for scientific pursuits, and found time to 
investigate successfully some of the branches of natural history. 
His contributions on these subjects were made public, and still 
bear testimony to his zeal and assiduity. Of his talents as a 
writer, evidence remains not only in numerous state-papers, but 
in published addresses, delivered on literary and civil occasions. 
The style of his oratory seems to have partaken of the general 
character of his mind. He owed something to personal appear- 
ance, much to his weight of character, still more to the substan- 
tial merits of his discourse. His elocution, if not particularly 
graceful, was impressive and dignified. 

Clinton's success as a political man, must be ascribed to higher 
merils than aftability of manners, or the winning arts of the dema- 
gogue. In his public communications, and in social intercourse, 
where not closely intimate, his habits were stately and reserved. 
He had never studied in the school of modern non-committalism, 
nor would he seek, by an insinuating address, or by chicane and 
intrigue, the influence which argument and right had failed to 
gain. 

In person he was tall and well-proportioned, while on his 
Roman brow and lip, as of one born to command, sat the firm- 
ness of self-possession, and the dignity of conscious poAver, 

But it is when we contemplate Clinton as a man, faithful and 
true in every domestic and social relation ; — as a patriot, self- 
sacrificing and devoted ; — as a statesman and judge, virtuous and 
incorruptible ; — as a benefactor to his own and coming times, 
rarely surpassed, that his name shines most brightly, and will be 
longest remembered. He was not, indeed, faultless. We recall 
with regret that devotion to party, which, on the one hand, blinded 
him to the faults of his political friends, and on the other, made 
him sometimes unjust and uncharitable toward his opponents. 
Through his whole course we discern too much, perhaps, of that 
" sin, by which fell the angels." 

But we must not forget the trying character of those times. 
The tides of party violence ran high. Besides that great strife 
which agitated the whole country, and shook the Union to its 
centre. New York, herself " imperium in iniperio," was never 
without some fierce struggle of her own. Like Jupiter with his 
moons, she formed an entire, though subordinate planetary sys- 
tem, and her intestine perturbations were neither lew nor small. 
To the political pilots of those stormy years let us forgive some- 
thing, if their barks occasionally drifted with the currents which 
they undertook to stem. 



DE WITT CLINTON. 25 

Clinton's hostility as a politician, however severe, was not per- 
sonal. To this point we have the testimony of one of his most 
illustrious antagonists. When the news of his decease reached 
Washington, the New York delegation in Congress held a meet- 
ing, to e.\j)ress their sense of the public loss. Mr. Van Buren, 
then of the senate, otlcred the resolutions, and paid the following 
tribute to his worth — a tribute which must have been as affecting 
as it is just and beautiful. 

"I can," said Mr. V. B., " say nothing of the deceased that is 
not familiar to you all. To ali he was personally known, and to 
many of us intimately and familiarly from our earliest infancy. 
The high order of his talents, the untiring zeal and great success 
with which those talents have, through a series of years, been de- 
voted to the prosecution of plans of great public utility, are also 
known to you all, and by all, I am satisfied, duly appreciated. 
The subject can derive no additional interest or importance from 
any eulogy of mine. All other considerations out of view, the 
single fact that the greatest public improvement of the age in 
which we live, was commenced under the guidance of his coun- 
sels, and splendidly accomplished under his immediate auspices, 
is of itself sufficient to fill the ambition of any man, and to give 
glory to any name. But, as has been justly said, his life, and 
character, and conduct, have become the property of the histori- 
an ; and there is no reason to doubt that history will do him jus- 
tice. The triumph of his talents and patriotism, cannot fail to be- 
come monuments of hioh and enduring fame. We cannot indeed 
but remember, that in our public career, collisions of opinion and 
action, at once extensive, earnest, and enduring, have arisen be- 
tween the deceased and many of us. For myself, sir, it gives me 
a deep-felt though melancholy satisfaction to know, and more so, 
to be conscious, that the deceased also felt and acknowledged, that 
our political differences had been wholly free from that most ven- 
omous and corroding of all poisons, personal hatred. 

" But in other respects, it is now immaterial what was the char- 
acter of those collisions. They have been turned to nothing, and 
less than nothing, by the event we deplore; and I doubt not that 
we shall, with one voice and one heart, yield to his memory the 
well-deserved tribute of our respect for his name, and our warm- 
est gratitude for his great and signal services. For myself, sir, so 
strong, so sincere, and so engrossing is that feeling, that I, who 
while he lived, never, no, never envied him anything, now that he is 
fallen, am greatly tempted to envy him his grave, with its honors." 

But there is other and better extenuation for the errors into 
which the heat of political conflict sometimes hurried this great 
man. Though a partisan of the warmest temperament, his devo- 
tion to party objects was never selfish. Whatever else may be 
said, he was not of that class of narrow men, 

" Who to party give up what was meant for mankind." 



96 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

To his praise be it remembered, that personal aggrandizement 
was not the ruUng motive of his Hfe, Though his official posi- 
tion gave him multiplied opportunities to enrich himself and his 
family, he resolutely scorned them all, and died, as he lived, a 
rare example of Aristidean virtue. He contended earnestly for 
power, but it was the power to do good. He was ambitious, but it 
was ambition in its brightest phase, and scarcely can we find it in 
our hearts to chide the aspiring vice, which was so noble in pur- 
pose, and so beneficent in act. 

Envy has sometimes denied the paramount merit of Clinton in 
the great enterprise of the Erie Canal. But the question is not, 
whether he first made the suggestion of a navigable communica- 
tion between the lakes and the Hudson. It is a fact of historic 
certainty, that the adoption, the prosecution, and the accomplish- 
ment of that gigantic undertaking, were owing mainly to his con- 
vincing statements, his vast influence, and indomitable perseve- 
rance. What other man was there then, or has there been since, 
who would have accomplished the same 1 Who, that has watch- 
ed the course of events in New York, and the fluctuations of 
party legislation on this very subject, the canal, but may well 
question, whether, without the agency just named, it w^ould to 
this day have been begun ? To Clinton, then, as an honored in- 
strument in higher hands, be the praise awarded ! Citizens of this 
imperial State, whose numerical power the canal has doubled, 
and whose wealth it has augmented in a ratio that defies estima- 
tion, cherish and perpetuate his name ! You enjoy the rich 
fruits which his foresight anticipated, and his toils secured. Let 
him rest no longer in an undistinguished grave. True, a name 
like Clinton's cannot die ! It is written on that long, deep line 
with which he channeled the broad bosom of his native State ; — 
it is heard at every watery stair, as the floating burden sinks or 
rises with the gushing stream ; — it is borne on each of the thou- 
sand boats that make the long, inland voyage ; — and it shines, en- 
twined with Fulton's on all the steam-towed fleets of barges, 
which sweep in almost continuous train, the surface of the Hud- 
son. But these are the traces of his own hand. It is your duty 
and privilege to record it too. Engrave it, then, in ever-during 
stone. Embody your sense of his merits in the massive pile. 
From the loftiest height of beautiful Green-Wood let the struc- 
ture rise, a beacon at once to the city and the sea. Severe in 
beauty, and grand in proportions, it should be emblematical of 
the man and of his works. Such a monument will be a perpetual 
remembrancer of Clinton's name, and of his inappreciable servi- 
ces ; and will stand for ages, the fit expression of your gratitude 
and of his glory. 



©akm Sluff. 



" A voice within us speaks that startling word, 
' Man, thou shalt never die !' Celestial voices 
Hymn it unto our souls : according harps, 
By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars 
Of morning sang together, sound forth still 
The song of our great immortality : 
Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, 
The tail, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas, 
Join in this solemn, universal song. 
Oh, listen ye our spirits; drink it in 
From all the air." 




HE monument on Oaken Bluff* is almost 
')^ upon the woody brow of Sylvan Water. It 
is composed of the same beautiful brown 
stone as those on Ocean Hill, already de- 
scribed. Its style also is similar, although 
somewhat more pyramidal, from the greater 
breadth of base. The corners of the die, and 
the roof are enriched, and the latter is sur- 
mounted by an urn. 

On the right is seen a tomb-front, of the same material. The 
detail is Roman, and the proportions are massive. A strong pier 
at each of the front corners, terminates in an urn of bold outline. 

Both of these structures present an aspect of great solidity, and 
a promise of permanence, which will doubtless be made good. 
This rare but most important character they derive partly from 
form and material, and partly from the perfection of the masonry. 

* Erected by Mr. C. S. Benedict. 




jTcrn S)\[l 



" And those who come because they loved 

The mouldering frame that lies below, 
Shall find their anguish half removed, 

While that sweet spot shall sooth their wo. 
The notes of happy birds alone 

Shall there disturb the silent air, 
And when the cheerful sun goes down, 

His beams shall linger longest there." 

HE monument on Fern Hill* is an obelisk 
of unique character. The outline diminish- 
es from the base upward, in successive sta- 
ges of slight curvation, and the figure fur- 
nishes an agreeable variety in this very popu- 
lar class of sepulchral decorations. The 
stone is a hard and very dark sienitic or trap 
rock from Staten Island ; it is polished 
throughout, and its entire aspect is impres- 
sive and becoming. The workmanship of this structure is admi- 
rable. As in the old Athenian masonry, the separate stones are so 
nicely adjusted, that they require no intervening cement. This 
obelisk occupies the centre of a large circular lot, and its position 
is commanding and beautiful. 

* Erected by Mr. Samuel Bowne. 





i;aton-(Sivt C)ill. 



"And sweetly secure from all pain they shalllie, 
Where the dews gently fall, and still waters are nigh ; 
While the birds sing their hymns, amid air-harps that sound 
Through the boughs of the forest-trees whispering around, 
And flowers, bright as Eden's, at morning shall spread, 
And at eve drop their leaves o'er the slumbertir's bed !" 

HIS beautiful knoll occupies a position in 
0^ the Cemetery ground, very nearly central. 
It is a gentle eminence of oval shape. From 
its wood-crowned summit one looks out 
upon smooth lawns of sunny brightness. 
To the visitor approaching it from the east by 
the principal avenue, the view cannot fail to 
be pleasing. The warm cleared grounds are 
hedged in by the surrounding copse-wood, 
M'^hile here and there a vista invitingly opens, — and one, in partic- 
ular, beautifully terminates in the waters of the Bay. A neat iron 
paling surrounds the hill, marking it as the appropriated final 
home of a large family.* 

* The Pierrepont Family. 





®l)e Sour, 

FROM OCBAN HILL. 

" I now shall be peopled from life's busy sphere ; 
Ye may roam, but the end of your journey is here. 
I shall call ! I shall call ! and the many will come 
From the heart of your crowds to so peaceful a home ; 
The great and the good, and the young and the old, 
In death's dreamless slumbers, my mansions will hold." 




HE plate presents one of those views of quiet 
i'C beauty which are so numerous in the grounds 
* of this cemetery. The spectator stands 
among the trees on the sharp, western side 
of Ocean Hill. A glade of considerable ex- 
tent is spread out before him. Its waving 
border is darkly fringed with foliage, — while 
its gentle declivities of various inclination 
lie warm and bright in the broad eye of day. 
The Tour, winding round in serpentine length and slowness, is 
lost finally in the distant copse. The whole character of the 
landscape accords perfectly with the spirit of the place. Here are 
rural beauty and repose. No human dwelling is within view, if 
we except the still mansions of the dead. Neither sight nor 
sound is here to remind us of the noisy living world. Not 
unfrequently the long funereal train, moving on with the slow 
pace of wo, and with phantom-like stillness, gives the picture a 
melancholy but finishing touch. 




A mansion! rear'd with cost and care, 
Of quaint device and aspect fair. 
Its walls in rocky strength secure, 
Its massive portal fast and sure ; 
And, all intrusion to foreclose, 
Reclining near in grim repose, 
Two guards canine forever wait, 
Cerberean warders of the gate. 
Hold fast, ye stones, your treasured clay, 
Though wasting ages roll away ; 
Cling closely round the honor'd trust. 
Nor yield one particle of dust ! 
Yet ye shall hear a voice at last, 
Quaking beneath a clarion-blast ! 
Your dead shall hear that voice, and rise, 
And seek, on angel-wings, the skies ! 




MONUMENTAL tomb in the early 
English style of Gothic architecture.* 
The material is the New Jersey sand- 
stone, from the quarry at Little Falls. 
Its roof rests upon an arch, and is cover- 
ed with stone tiles, cut and laid diamond- 
wise. The front is gabled, and aquatre- 
foil in relief, on the stone door, bears 
the date of erection. The apex of the 
gable is enriched by a bold finial. At 
each corner is a supporting buttress, — and the sides are still fur- 
ther sustained by walls that keep up the earth. 

This tomb occupies a commanding position in the Tour, being 
on the high bluff over Sylvan Lake. This is one of the earliest 
tomb-fronts, of decided architectural character, erected on the 
grounds. It has attracted particular notice, as a new style for 
such erections. A blending of strength with beauty — an air of 
solemnity and repose — pervade the structure, and render it im- 
pressive. 

* Erected by Mr. George VV. Browne. 



ilista S)\\l 



Vet not to thine eternal resting-place 

Shalt thou retire alone; nor couldst thou wish 

Couch more magnificent." 




ISTA HILL is a gentle elevation, situated 
on the Tour, in the immediate vicinity of Cedar 
Grove. A portion of this hill is enclosed by an 
iron paling, with a handsome gateway opening 
to the east. The spacious enclosure is slightly 
elliptical. This beautiful spot has been secured 
and set apart for burial purposes, by the Church 
of the Saviour. We have already had occasion 
to allude to this wise and Christian appropriation. Is it not wise 
to bind more closely together, by the solemn and tender associa- 
tions of the grave, those who meet and worship in the same sanc- 
tuary ? And is not that a heaven-born charity, which not only 
remembers the poor while living, but, with delicate regard to the 
tenderest feelings of our nature, provides for them svch sepul- 
ture ? Praise to those who designed and who have accomplished 
the work ! 

One or two other congregations own lots in Green-Wood, but 
no other one has appropriated and enclosed a tract for common 
occupancy. The Cemetery still contains spots admirably adapted 
to such a use. Will not some, will not many of the two hundred 
churches, which are destined to make Green-Wood their place of 
burial, take care to secure these choice positions, before they shall 
be pre-occupied by individual proprietors ? That every church 
should have its own burying-ground, is consonant as well to nat- 
ural fitness and religious propriety, as to long experience. The 
dead may indeed no longer rest under or around the sacred walls 
which were so dear to them in life. Yet the place of sepulture 
may be hallowed by solemn assembly and religious rite. As pas- 
tor and people — the young and the old — the rich and the poor, 
cluster together there, how precious, how holy will the place be- 
come ? What more can it need to consecrate and endear it, than 
its own simple charms, associated as they will then be with so 
many treasures of the heart, — so many tender memories and con- 
solatory hopes ? 

The enclosure on Vista Hill was consecrated in the presence 
of a large assembly, on the 18th September, 1845. A mild 



VISTA HILL. 33 

autumnal day gave additional beauty and interest to the scene, 
and to the services. From the address delivered on this occasion 
hy the pastor. Rev. Mr. Farley, we have been permitted to 
make the following extracts : — 

" And I rejoice especially that it is here, — here, among these 
verdant groves, and lawns, and solemn shades. How surprising 
it seems, that in some of the older parts of our country, among a 
people by no means wanting in the warm and deep allections of 
our nature, we can find so many instances where ' the bleak hill- 
side,' or 'bare common, without shrub or tree,' is the spot se- 
lected as the burial-place of the dead ! — nay, more : where no 
care is given to replacing the falling headstones, or repairing the 
decaying tombs, or even the broken fences ! 

" I admit that, despite these apparent and sad intimations of 
neglect, the memory of the dead is there cherished with as much 
sensibility, at least, as ever prompted the erection of the costliest 
mausoleum, or planted and watched the ' forget-me-nots ' and 
' immortelles,' as they bloomed by the graves of the departed. 
But affection is not exhausted or weakened, by giving to it ex- 
pression, nor the fount of feeling dried up, by imbodying its ap- 
propriate signs ; and for one, 1 confess to a good deal of rever- 
ence and tender regard, not only for the memory of the dead, but 
for the perishing body — the fleshly tabernacle in which the im- 
mortal spirit had sojourned. 

"In that, I see the signet of the great and divine Architect, as 
well as on that which inhabited it. It is the dictate of nature to 
love it. We press it to our arms when living ; we seal it with 
our kisses when dead. The dear who are absent, come to our 
imaguiations in the hour of revery and solitude, clothed in the 
material forms which are so familiar ; and in them are the dead 
who have been buried remembered. Nay, when we think of 
them in that higher home to which our Christian faith points us, 
in those spiritual bodies of which the Apostle speaks, whatever 
else be our ideas, the same eye seems to beam on us, the same 
smile to lighten the same features, the same hand to beckon us 
on. Hence, we find the remains of the dead sacred among all 
people ; the violation of the grave everywhere regarded as sacri- 
lege. Hence, our complacency at seeing a portion of the wealth 
which is lavished on palaces for the living, appropriated to pro- 
vide for, and fitly adorn the habitations of the dead. Honor, 
reverence, affection, we would say, then, to that curious, won- 
drous, beautiful mechanism of God, the body, when it has fulfilled 
its oflice ! Glad let us be to lay it in the virgin soil of this fair 
spot ! Soft fall the rays of the rising and setting sun, as they 
shine upon the green turf which covers it ! The grateful shade of 
these noble trees, the odor and beauty of sweet flowers, shall add 
their fragrance and loveliness to the place ; and whatever monu- 
ment, or stone, or marble, may hereafter be raised here, we will 

3 



34 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

find our plea for doing it, in the natural and strong promptings of 
the heart. But beyond this, there are high moral uses to be found 
in the place of graves, where that is well selected and well order- 
ed. It is not only grateful to the mourner in the early freshness 
of grief, but may be full of blessed influences to all the living. I 
am strongly tempted to say, that whoever can come to such a 
place as this where we stand, and the entire Cemetery to which it 
belongs, and not be impressed, and impressed deeply, by these 
influences, must be largely wanting in the common seriousness of 
our nature. I know not the place which unites in its natural 
aspect, and in its great capabilities, more fitness at once for the 
main design for which it was chosen, and more fulness of material 
for instructive and useful lessons to the living, as the dwelling- 
place of the dead, than this fair domain. All that is needed to 
this latter end is, that when we come here, we surrender our- 
selves, in a suitable frame of mind, to the spirit of the place. And 
for this, I do not think it necessary that we should enter it always 
in the funeral train, when the passing bell, solemn and touching 
as it is, chimes out its requiem to the departed. It is enough that 
the place is set apart and secured, as far as human contrivance 
and law can go, for the purposes of a Cemetery, that is, as the 
word imports, a sleeping or resting-place for the dead. 

" In its singular quiet, presenting a striking contrast to the 
noise and stir of the great cities close by ; in its easy access, yet 
secluded position, almost washed by the solitary sea ; in its 
diversified surface of hill and dale, glen and plain, woodland and 
copse, land and water ; in its exquisite natural beauties, and its 
large extent, it is remarkably fitted in itself for these purposes. 
As year after year passes, and more and more of the living who 
have been accustomed to thread its avenues, are gathered within 
its bosom ; as art and affection, from generation to generation, 
shall combine to do honor to the dead, rich and most affecting to 
the soul rightly disposed, will be the associations which shall clus- 
ter around it. And then to pause amid its still shades and think : — 
Here, indeed, is the place of the dead ! The dust which the living 
have worn, is here mingling again with the dust. As years come 
and go, here will be gathered more and more, ' the mighty con- 
gregation of the dead.' The voice of spring will be heard in the 
gentle breeze, or the blast of winter will wail among these then 
naked branches, with every opening or dying year, long after the 
thousands who now throng the streets of yonder cities, shall have 
gone to swell its ranks ! 

" What a lesson is here read to us, by every little mound of 
earth that marks the bed of a sleeper, every monument that tells 
his name, on the folly and vanity of all human designs ! Could 
the dead that lie buried within these graves now rise and speak to 
us, how sobered should we find the tongue of frivolity, how care- 
less of human fame the ambitious ; how weak the passionate ; 



VISTA HILL. 35 

how serious the worldling aiiil the fop; how humble and sincere 
the proud and the pretender ! 

"There is another lesson to be learned here ; and that relates 
to what survives and is imperishable. The monuments of de- 
parted heroes, in the groves of the Academia, without the walls 
of the city of Minerva, would not permit Themistocles to sleep, 
so did the thouglit of their great deeds fire his soul ! How much 
more should the place of the Christian dead stir and wake us, as 
we pause amid its shades, to a holy emulation of their high and 
more than heroic graces I What has passed, or is now passing 
away, is daily of less and less importance, — while what remains 
is imperishable. 

" The affections are immortal. The reunion of Christian 
friends after death, is a truth sanctioned by the entire teaching 
and spirit of the Gospel. Every virtue which graced the charac- 
ter of the departed ; every pure wish and holy purpose ; every 
sincere and holy prayer; every disinterested, honest, generous 
deed, — all that really endeared them to our hearts, are now like 
garlands of amaranth upon their tombs, and cannot die. The 
baptism of death has put them beyond the reach of tem|)tatiou 
and sin. And when we stand by the spot where their dust re- 
poses, we seem adjured, in tones that pierce the soul, by motives 
too mighty to be resisted, to be good, pure, faithful, even unto 
death, that when we too come to die, we, like them, may rest 
from our labors, and our good works follow us. 

" Ever sacred, then, be this spot to the pious uses for which it 
is set apart ! Ever precious in presence and in memory to the 
mourner ! Ever blessed and subduing in its influences and associ- 
ations to the prosperous and the happy ! May it serve, dearly 
beloved, as a new bond to keep us together, a united and Chris- 
tian flock ! Whenever our feet bend their way hither, either to 
perform the last oflices of Christian affection and piety, or to 
strengthen our spirits amid the sober meditations which befit the 
place, and are inspired by it, may we, one and all, be prompted to 
an increased fidelity to the church and cause of Christ while liv- 
ing, that we may share with the sainted dead the heaven he 
promised ! 

" I must be indulged a word in reference to the entire Ceme- 
tery around us, since already some of you have a special interest 
in it beyond this enclosure, and as I value it, beyond all price, as 
another proof of our advancing civilization as a people, and as a 
most wisely selected and beautifully disposed burial-place for the 
dead, for our own and our sister city. It is a word of liope, that 
these lovely grounds may henceforth, throughout their whole 
extent, wear only those adornments which befit or express the 
Christian's faith. I regret that any heathen emblems — emblems 
rather of a religion of doubt or despair, than of one which inspires 
a well-grounded trust, a joyous expectation, — should ever have 



36 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

been blazoned on its monuments and headstones.* The inverted 
torch, the broken column, no more become the cemeteries of a 
Christian people, than some of the sad inscriptions in the famous 
Pere la Chaise, which travellers read there : — ' A husband incon- 
solable ' — ' A disconsolate wife ' — ' Broken-hearted parents :' the 
appropriate language of hopeless grief alone ! I would have words 
full of hope, and confiding faith, and cloudless trust, and filial 
submission, and a serene, cheerful piety. I do not so much object 
to the obelisk, Egyptian though it be, and savoring, as some think, 
of an idolatrous homage of the sun ; because its tall shaft, with 
its pyramidical apex, losing itself in the air, and pointing to the 
sky, may seem to speak to the living of the heavenly home which 
their departed friends have entered. But I prefer the cross, the 
symbol of Christ's victory over death and the grave. I prefer the 
words of Holy Scripture, which speak of ' the resurrection and 
the life.' So that, as we wander here to meditate and commune 
with the righteous dead, heaven itself shall seem nearer — the ter- 
rors of the last hour be scattered — the loved who have been 
taken, come back to our remembrance in all their spiritual beauty, 
— and our souls, chastened and sobered, be the better prepared 
for what remains of life's duties, and its last hour." 

The Rev. John Pierpont assisted in these exercises ; and 
the following words from his pen, — to which we are indebted for 
many Christian lyrics of unsurpassed excellence, — were sung by 
the assembly, and most appropriately closed the scene : — 

" O God ! beneath this Green- Wood shade, — 
Beneath this blue, autumnal sky, 
Would we, by those we love, be laid, 
Whene'er it is our time to die. 

" The glory of this woodland scene, — 

These leaves, that came at summer's call, — 
These leaves, so lately young and green, 
Even now begin to fade and fall. 

" So shall we fade and fall at length : 

Youth's blooming cheek — the silvery hair 
Of reverend age— and manhood's strength, 
Shall here repose : — Then hear our prayer, 

"O Thou, who by thy Son hast said, — 

Prom fear of death to set us free, — 
' God is the God, not of the dead,' 

That we, for aye, may live in Thee !" 

* I fear the above remark may be misconstrued, or give unnecessary pain to 
some who have erected such monuments as are alluded to. Nothing was farther 
from my intention. As works of art only, do I feel that they are open to criticism. 
It is no. they who paid for thern, who are censured. Unhappily it is too frequently 
the case, that he who furnishes the design, seeks only to meet the eye of the em- 
ployer, and there is too little consideration with both parties, as to the significance 
of the emblems chosen. 



©tcan C)ill. 




" They have not perished, — no ! 
Kind words — remcmber'd voices, once so sweet — 

Smiles radiant long ago — 
And features, the great soul's apparent seat, — 

All shall come back ; each tie 
Of pure affection shall be knit again." 

E have in this view an obelisk of considera- 
ble height, and in some respects peculiar.* 
The shaft is surrounded by several narrow 
fillets slightly raised, and connected with 
other ornaments. Just above the base, on 
the front side, is a female bust in high re- 
lief. A tablet below records the name, vir- 
tues, and premature decease of a young wife 
and mother. The material is brown stone, and the work is finely 
executed. 

Hard by, and just seen through the foliage, is a laborer's cot- 
tage. Two of these structures, unlike in form, but both highly 
picturesque, already adorn the grounds. Others will from time 
to time be added, until, like a cordon of sentinels, they will sur- 
round the Cemetery, enhancing at the same time its security and 
its beauty. 

In happy unison with the immediate scene, and with the 
thoughts it naturally suggests, mark through the leafy openings 
those unpretending churches at Flatbush ! As seen from this 
solemn high-place, a sort of Sabbath stillness seems to rest on 
and around them ; while themselves may be deemed fit emblems 
of the piety and peace they were reared to promote. Still farther 
to expand and fill the soul, behold Avhere, in the dim, blue dis- 
tance, stretches far away the mighty sea, — 

"boundless, endless, and sublime — 

The image of Eternity !" 

At a short distance from the spot which has just passed under 
our notice, lie the remains of the Rev. David Abeel, and a mon- 
ument will soon rise above them. A brief commemoratory no- 
tice in these pages of this distinguished missionary and most ex- 
emplary man, will not, it is believed, be unacceptable. 

♦ Erected by Mr. Charles Shields. 



38 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

David Abeel was born in New Brunswick, N. J., A.D. 1804. 
His father served as an officer in the American navy during the 
war of the Revolution. The Rev. Dr. Abeel, for many years a 
distinguished clergyman of the Dutch Collegiate Churches in the 
city of New York, was his uncle. The subject of this sketch was 
distinguished, even in youth, by unflinching firmness of purpose 
and action. He early became a keen sportsman, and found health 
and strength in the exciting toil. The medical profession was his 
first choice ; and he had already made some progress in the 
study, when new views of life and duty induced him to change 
his contemplated pursuit for what he deemed a higher sphere of 
benevolent action. He entered at once upon the study of divinity, 
in the Theological School of his church at New Brunswick, and 
in due time completed the required course, with a reputation for 
learning and piety, which gave promise of high usefulness. 

He was soon settled as pastor of the Dutch Church, just then 
formed in Athens, N. Y. Here he devoted himself so assiduously 
to his duties, that a year had not elasped before his health gave 
way under the combined exhaustion of excitement and fatigue. 
To recruit his failing powers, and still serve the cause to which he 
had consecrated them, he accepted a proposal to minister, during 
the winter, to a church of his own persuasion in the island of St. 
Thomas. He returned to the United States ; but no entreaties 
could induce him again to accept a permanent station at home. 
The miserable degradation and spiritual wants of the heathen 
world had filled his imagination, and more than touched his heart. 
Especially had his sympathies long turned toward that mighty 
empire on the other side of the globe, whose teeming provinces 
contain one-third part of the human race. 

He went first to Canton, in the capacity of chaplain to the nu- 
merous seamen who congregate at that port. Soon after he be- 
came a regular missionary, under appointment of the board of 
commissioners for foreign missions, and was stationed at Bankok, 
in Siam. An enervating climate, and his own toilsome life, soon 
compelled him to quit his post. After several short voyages for 
his health, he returned to China, and settled at Macao. But his 
difficulties returned. He again tried voyaging in the Indian Ar- 
chipelago. But this had ceased to afford relief; and he reluctantly 
consented to set out for home. He returned by the way of 
England. Though so feeble when he sailed, as to be conveyed 
on a couch to the ship, the passage across the Atlantic proved 
highly beneficial. 

With improving health, his zeal and activity returned. He 
traversed the land, a missionary apostle, communicating to multi- 
tudes some portion of his own earnest benevolence. After a year 
thus usefully employed, he resolved, in despite of all remonstrance, 
to return to China. He arrived at Macao previous to the com- 
mencement of hostilities on the part of England. He was there 



OCEAN HILL. 39 

during the continuance of that extraordinary war, and was ready, 
at its close, to avail himself of the strange and new position in 
which it placed the affairs of China. By a succession of events 
equally rapid and unexpected, he saw prostrated to the ground 
tlie barriers whicli custom and prejudice had so long maintained 
around that singular people. Whatever might be thought of the 
motive and principles which led to this result, or of the means by 
which it was effected, there seemed no reason to doubt that it 
would be mutually beneficial to China and the world. To the 
Christian philanthropist especially, whose heart had long bled for 
so many millions, "perishing for lack of vision," the event must 
have seemed a most auspicious providence. To none could the 
occurrence have been more welcome than to the devoted Abeel. 
For years he had been laboring almost single-handed. An exhaust- 
ing climate — impaired health — the acquisition of a difficult language 
— and more than all, the proverbial exclusiveness of the Chinese, 
were obstacles sufficient to cool aught but that fervid zeal and 
love, which the Christian's faith can alone inspire. 

He could now write and speak the language. His prudence, 
his conciliatory address and most exemjilary character, had given 
him high consideration with many of the natives ; — and now, at 
length, the cannon of the Ocean Queen had been made instru- 
mental in leveling what seemed the last great barrier to mission- 
ary enterprise. He stationed himself at Amoy, with the intent 
of entering in earnest on the great work for which he had so long 
been preparing. But it was not so to be. He, who needs not 
our service, and who often teaches man a lesson of humility and 
dependence, as well as of faith and duty, by removing the most 
efficient human instruments, saw fit again to reduce him to ex- 
treme Aveakness. Again he was put on board ship, bound for 
America, but with no expectation, on the part of his friends, that 
he would ever reach her shore. He did, however, survive the 
voyage. 

But little more remains to be told. With a characteristic 
energy of will, which seemed to triumph over physical debility, 
he visited different and distant parts of the United States. The 
warmest welcome, the kindest attentions, everywhere awaited 
this meek and worn-out soldier of the cross. But change of cli- 
mate, travel, medical skill, and assiduous care, were alike pow- 
erless to arrest the progress of disease. A nervous irritability, 
more difficult, perhaps, than even pain to bear, was his constant 
attendant. Yet no disturbance of the material organization ruf- 
fled his ever even temper, or marred the beauty of his Christian 
graces. His last days were spent at the house of his friend, Mr. 
Van Rensselaer, of Albany ; and there, on the 6th September, 
1846, he quietly expired. 

" Serene, serene, 
He pressed the crumbling verge of this terrestrial scene; 



40 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

Breathed soft, in childlike trust, 

The parting groan ; 
Gave back to dust its dust — 

To heaven its own." 

It could have been no common-place character, no ordinary 
virtues of mind and heart, which won for the subject of our me- 
moir an esteem so general and enduring. Intellectually, he was 
clear and discriminating, with great readiness and appropriate- 
ness of thought. Resolute of purpose, and energetic in act, he 
could accomplish a large amount of labor. He was a man of 
unvarying prudence, and the most considerate kindness. The 
sincerity and warmth of his good-will, written on his face, im- 
bodied in words of affectionate earnestness, and breathed in tones 
of the gentlest persuasion, possessed a logic and eloquence that 
seldom failed to reach the heart. He was distinguished, not so 
much by any one outshining quality, as by the balanced harmony 
of all his powers. His was that excellent and rare gift of Heaven, 
good sense. All the sweet urbanities of life he knew and prac- 
tised ; and the high virtues of the Christian missionary certainly 
lose none of their lustre by being associated, as in his case, with 
those of the gentleman and scholar. 

It must be manifest, that a character and life such as we have 
depicted, could have been inspired and sustained only by a deep- 
seated and healthy piety. It was this which nerved a sensitive 
invalid to those circumnavigations of charity, — which sustained 
him under the depressing fervors of a tropical sun — which en- 
couraged him alonof the toilsome task of learning: the languagre — 
and which, when friends, and physicians, and fainting nature her- 
self, counselled retirement and repose, carried him again and 
again from the bed to the field. And what but this, amid the 
disappointment of long-cherished hopes, and wearisome infirmi- 
ties of the flesh, could impart that meek resignation and cheerful 
trust, which made his last hours a scene of perfect peace ? 

To human view, a death like this seems, at first thought, dis- 
astrous and premature. It is, however, only the close of a life 
which should be measured by its intensity, rather than duration. 

" To live in hearts we leave behind, 
Is not to die," 

then Abeel still lives ; — lives in those words of his which yet sur- 
vive in memory ; — lives in his great example of self-denial and 
love — in the very mound that swells above his ashes — and in 
each memorial that bears his name. 



iJattlc £)[[[. 




'Once thi3 soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, 
And fiery hearts and armed hands 
Encountered in the battle-cloud. 

• Ah ! never shall the land forget, 

How gush'd the life-blood of her brave,— 
Gush'd, warm with hope and courage yet, 
Upon the soil they fought to save." 

NDEPENDENTLY of their present and pro- 
spective claims to regard, Green-Wood and its 
vicinage must ever possess a strong interest, 
derived from the past. In that vicinity, — upon 
ground traversed in part by every visitor to 
the Cemetery, and lying immediately below 
and around it, — occurred the first serious con- 
flict between the British and American troops, 
on the memorable 2()th of August, 1776. There 
is indeed reason to believe, that the very spot 
presented in the plate was stained that day with patriot blood. It 
seems strange that the events of that occasion, and the localities 
of those events, have commanded so little attention. In general, 
our countrymen have shown anything but indifference to the spots 
which were hallowed by the struggles and blood of their fathers. 
There was scarcely a petty skirmish in New England which has 
not had its historian. Every rood of ground trod by hostile feet, 
has been traced and identified. Upon anniversary returns, thou- 
sands have assembled to collect the scattered bones of the glori- 
ous dead, — to hear their eulogy from eloquent lips, — and to rear 
some enduring monument, that shall transmit their names and 
deeds. What battle, since that of Marathon, has ever concentred 
upon one small spot of earth an interest like that which, for sev- 
enty years, has clung round Bunker Hill ? How have the histo- 
rian and the novelist, the painter and the architect, the poet and 
the orator, conspired to enhance its glory ! How many millions 
have visited the spot, to see with their own eyes that " septdchre 
of mighty dead," and to press with their own feet the sod which 
was wet with Warren's gore ! 

In contrast with all this, what a story of neglect is that of the 
battle-ground in Brooklyn ! How few of the vast population ia 



42 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

its vicinity, know or care aught about it ! How very (e\v could 
even designate the fields where Sullivan and Stirling, until over- 
powered by an enemy in their rear, fought with their raw levies, 
the veterans of Europe, not less bravely than did Prescott at 
Charlestown, or Stark at Bennington ! 

Important differences, it is true, distinguish the cases. The en- 
gagement at Brooklyn, like that of Bunker Hill, Avas a defeat — 
but not, like that, more glorious than most victories. Instead of 
inspiriting the defenders of freedom, its consequences were de- 
pressing and disastrous ; and the day was long thought of, as one 
of mistakes, if not of disgrace. The ground itself came at once 
into the possession of the British, and so continued to the end of 
the war. The standard of general intelligence on the island, was 
neither then, nor for a good while thereafter, very high, while 
that of patriotism was decidedly low. The popular enthusiasm, 
so ardent elsewhere, was here unfelt, or for so long a time re- 
pressed, that silence and indifference in regard to the matters in 
question became habitual, and have never been disturbed. Such, 
it is believed, are some of the causes of a neglect which is more 
easily accounted for than justified. 

It is due to the brave combatants of that day, that their names 
and deeds should be remembered and commemorated, in common 
with many others — more distinguished, only because they were 
more fortunate. To this end we contribute our mite. We would 
induce some of the countless visitors of Green-Wood to turn 
aside, and stand upon the spot where their fathers once stood, 
" shoulder to shoulder in the strife for their country." At least 
we would have them know, as they ride along, that the very earth 
beneath them was reddened in the conflict, which secured to them 
their great and fair inheritance. 

The unsparing hand of improvement is fast sweeping away, not 
only the vestiges of all the old defences, but the very hills on 
which they were raised, at such expense of treasure and toil. 
Even the more distant grounds, beyond the lines of circumvalla- 
tion, upon which the fight occurred, have in some instances been 
materially changed. The actors in those scenes are all gone. Of 
traditionary information but little can now be gleaned, and that 
little will soon have perished. 

That the British would make an early and vigorous effort to 
obtain possession of the waters and city of New York, was anti- 
cipated, almost at the commencement of the struggle. The difii- 
culty of defending it against a powerful army and fleet, which re- 
sulted from its position, was not diminished by the well-known 
disaffection to the revolutionary cause, that existed among the in- 
habitants. But the object was regarded as of pre-eminent impor- 
tance. The magnitude of the city itself, — its convenient and ac- 
cessible waters, and particularly its position of command, at one 
extremity of the great communicating line between the Atlantic 



BATTLE HILL. 43 

and Canada, -^were deemed reasons sulRcient for maintaining the 
place at almost any hazard. 

As early as February, 1776, General Lee was ordered, with 
a small force, to New York, to j^uard against apprehended danger 
from Sir Henry Clinton and the lories. Defensive works were 
begun under his direction, and continued to be prosecuted by Lord 
Stirling and others, until the arrival of Washington in April. For 
four months more, the work of fortifying went on under his eye, 
and the most strenuous efl'orts were made to provide a sufficient 
defence against the expected attack. At the end of June the 
British fleet and army began to arrive, and took immediate pos- 
session of Statcn Island. By the first of August, a powerful fleet 
and thirty thousand men were stationed on and around it. It was 
this strong naval and land armament which the American general 
was expected to oppose and repel. The advantage seemed to be 
greatly on the side of the enemy. An army mostly of militia- 
men, who had seen no service, and knew little of discipline, — 
poorly clothed and ill-paid, — with few of the comforts, or even 
necessaries of the camp, — scantily provided with the arms and 
munitions which such a service requires, and unsupported by a 
single war-ship, — were to make good their ground against num- 
bers greatly superior, — accustomed to all the duties of the drill 
and the field, — and completely furnished with the whole materiel 
of war. 

Being in total uncertainty as to the point of attack, the Ameri- 
can commander was compelled to scatter his forces, and to man a 
great extent of lines. In addition to the defences on Governor's 
Island, and on both sides of the island of New York, extending 
up the Hudson and East rivers for many miles, it was thought 
necessary to guard the western shore of Long Island, where it 
approaches and commands the city. A series of strong intrench- 
ments stretched from Red Hook quite across to the Wallabout. 
The woody ridge which extends along nearly the whole eastern 
side of Brooklyn, was guarded by detachments and pickets posted 
at all the openings. 

Such was the position of affairs when, on the 22d of August, 
the British commenced landing their troops at New Utrecht, near 
the spot where Fort Hamilton now stands. Four days afterward, 
their centre, composed of Hessians, under De Hiester, was at Flat- 
bush ; the right wing, commanded by Lords Cornwallis and Perc\', 
extended towards Flatlands ; while the left wing, under General 
Grant, rested on the coast. From the American camp the British 
centre was four miles, and each of the wings about six miles dis- 
tant. Very early in the morning of the 27th, two brigades under 
General Grant, advancing, partly along the coast-road, and partly 
by Martensis' Lane, which now forms the southern boundary of 
Green-Wood, drove back the regiment stationed in that neighbor- 
hood. Lord Stirling, with two regiments of southern troops, was 



44 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

dispatched to oppose them. The day broke as he came in sight 
of his foe, whose front, on the Gowanus road, was then a little in 
advance of the present avenue to the Cemetery. The regiment 
under Col. Atlee, which was retiring before the advancing column, 
was immediately stationed on the left of the road, near the point 
where Eighteenth street intersects it. The other two regiments 
were planted farther to the left, on the hill now included between 
Eighteenth and Twentieth streets. A company of riflemen was 
posted, partly on the edge of the wood, and partly along a hedge 
near the foot of the hill. Some relics of this temporary shelter 
may still be seen, — 

" There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose." 

Having made his arrangements, and while momently expecting 
the attack. Lord Stirling thus addressed his men : — " The com- 
mander, soldiers, of that advancing column, is Major-general 
Grant. Not long since, I heard him boast in parliament, that 
with five thousand men he would undertake to march from one 
end of the continent to the other. He may have," added Lord 
S., " his five thousand men with him now. We are not so 
many ; but I think we are enough to prevent his advancing far- 
ther on his march over the continent than yonder mill-pond." 

The British having brought forward a body of light troops to 
within a hundred and fifty yards, opened their fire, which was 
returned with spirit. After two hours' fighting, the light troops 
retired to the main body. The contest was continued by can- 
nonade for several hours longer, when the noise of firing in their 
rear, warned the Americans that an immediate retreat had become 
necessary. 

Unfortunately, a pass on the extreme left of the American 
lines had been left without any adequate guard. Secret foes, 
who knew but too well the ground, had apprized the enemy of 
this advantage. In the course of the night, the British right 
wing, making a detour through New Lotts, into the road leading 
from Jamaica to Bedford, was thus enabled to throw itself be- 
tween the American detachments and their camp. The troops 
thus assailed by a fire in front and rear, mostly broke and fled. 
General Sullivan, with about 400 men, was posted on the heights 
immediately west of Flatbush. Though attacked by overwhelm- 
ing forces on both sides, he bravely maintained the conflict for 
nearly three hours, yielding himself a prisoner only when far- 
ther resistance had become utterly futile. 

While this calamitous aftair was going on in the American 
right and centre. Lord Cornwallis, with a strong force, was ad- 
vancing toward Gowanus, and had already secured the causeway 
and bridge at the Upper Mills, when Lord Stirling, in his re- 
treat, came in sijjht. His men could get back to the inner lines, 
only by crossing the marsh, and fording or swimming the creek, 



BATTLE HILL. 45 

at some point below. To protect them in tliis {lifTicult and dan- 
gerous operation, Stirling advanced against Cornwallis with 400 
men — ordering all the rest to make their escape as best they 
could. The conflict of this forlorn hope with the veteran troops 
of Cornwallis was exceedingly fierce, and at one time all but 
successful. But new and overwhelming reinforcements of the 
enemy rendered valor and patriotism alike unavailing. Tlie 
scene of this struggle is supposed to have been principally in the 
neighborhood of the ancient Cortelyou house, still standing on 
the old road to Gowanus, with the date, 1699, in large figures 
on its gable. Numerous skeletons disinterred in its immediate 
vicinity — and some of them quite recently — leave little doubt 
respecting the locality. 

Stirling, having by this engagement secured the safety of his 
main body, made an attempt to escape with his small surviving 
remnant. But he was now hemmed completely in, and submit- 
ting to his fate, he surrendered. Several historians, — and the 
traditions of the neighborhood, accredited even to this day, — - 
have affirmed that large numbers perished in attempting to cross 
the marsh. The same statement was made by General Howe, 
in his official dispatch. It is, nevertheless, undoubtedly a mis- 
take. A letter is extant, written a few weeks after the engage- 
ment by Col. Haslet, who commanded a regiment in Stirling's 
brigade, and was one of those who crossed the marsh. He states, 
unequivocally, that the retreat over the marsh " was effected in 
good order, with the loss of one man drowned in passing." 

There is no reason to suppose that there was much fighting 
within what is now the Cemetery enclosure. But sharpshooters 
are known to have been perched in and among the trees, which 
then covered thickly that whole range of hills, and tradition has 
it, that one small party of riflemen was surrounded and extermi- 
nated on the very eminence presented in the plate. That these 
practised marksmen would find little mercy at the hands of an 
enemy which had experienced the fatal precision of their aim, 
was only to be expected. In one instance, at least, a British offi- 
cer, unwilling to remain the object of their too partial attentions, 
left his post and men, and took shelter in a neighboring farm- 
house. 

As the bodies of the victims in this struggle were mostly in- 
terred where they fell, there can be little doubt that Green-Wood 
is the sleeping-place of some of them. It is time that a spot 
were set apart, on its most commanding and beautiful eminence, 
in honor of these early martyrs for freedom. Here should be 
deposited the relics which have been, or from time to time shall 
be recovered, in the numerous excavations now going on within 
and around these grounds. It may be difficult, nay impossible, 
to distinguish friend from foe. It matters not. To the sturdy 
Briton, who in death remembered his dear island-home ; — the 



46 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

poor, hired Hessian, whose last thoughts were of his wife and 
children on the far-distant Rhine ; — and the patriot yeoman, 
whose dying hour was sweetened by the reflection that he fell in 
a righteous cause ; — to each and all an honorable burial. 

" Gather him to his grave again, 
And solemnly and softly lay, 
Beneath the verdure of the plain. 
The warrior's scattered bones away." 

And here we may allude to another act of justice and gratitude, 
which ought not longer to be delayed. It is well known that 
the remains of the American prisoners who died in such num- 
bers in the Fritish prison-ships, and whose bodies were hud- 
dled into the earth on a hill in North Brooklyn, were a few years 
since piously rescued from desecration, and consigned to a vault 
not far from the entrance to the United States' Navy Yard. This 
arrangement — the act of one generous individual — must, of ne- 
cessity, be regarded as temporary. The spot and structure are 
destitute not only of security against future molestation, but of 
the dignity and solidity which become such a tomb. Some faint 
efforts have indeed been made to accomplish their removal to 
Green-Wood. But why await the tardy action of the General 
Government ? Is there not enough of patriotism and gratitude 
in these two great and wealthy communities, to raise the means 
for a decent, nay, for a noble tribute to those unfortunate men, 
who died for their country as truly as though they had fallen on 
the battle-field, and in the very hour of victory ? Taken while 
defending that country's cause, were they less to be commisera- 
ted while living, or less to be honored and deplored in death, — 
that they were compelled to experience the pestilential damps 
and nauseous horrors of those dismal cabins into which they 
were crowded like so many sheep? How many fond husbands 
and fathers, — how many well-beloved sons, amid those appalling 
scenes of want, sickness, and death, must have sighed for the 
comforts and the solace of the homes which they were never 
more to see ! But we forbear. Our strongest conception of 
such a scene, how far short must it fall of the stern reality ! In 
that master-piece of reasoning and eloquence, the Oration for 
the Crown, the incomparable orator, arguing the point, that well- 
meant endeavor, and not success, is the test and proof of merit, 
reminds his couutrymen that their funeral honors had ever been 
paid to all who fell in the service of Athens — the unsuccessful as 
well as the victorious brave. The cilizcns of a great and flour- 
ishing state, in the brightest era of civilization and Christianity, 
should learn a lesson here frt)m pagan Greece. Must some De- 
mosthenes arise, with superhuman power, to explain and enforce 
their duty, before they will hear and obey its dictates? 



BATTLE HILL. 47 

The position assigned to Lord Stirling's troops and General 
Grant's brigade, in the plans of tlie battle which accompany Mar- 
shall's History and Sparks' Washington, — a plan which has 
been lately copied, without correction, in Doer's Life of Stirling, 
— is very erroneous. On those plans, the contending forces are 
placed about opposite to Yellow Hook ; whereas, in fact, Stir- 
ling did not advance beyond the middle of Gowanus Bay — nor 
farther south than a hill on WyckolV's grounds, lying between 
what, in the future topograph)^ of the city, will be Eighteenth 
and Twentieth streets. There was, however, if we may credit 
tradition, a little fighting in the neighborhood of Yellow Hook — 
a slight skirmish, not noticed in any of the published accounts, 
between the advancing British and Alice's retiring regiment, in 
which a few lives were lost. 

The Knickerbocker Magazine for April, 1839, contains an 
interesting article on the battle of Long Island, prepared from a 
discourse originally delivered before the New York Historical 
Society, by Samuel Ward, Jr. It is illustrated by an engraved 
sketch of the battle-ground, which is believed to be, by far, the 
most accurate of any yet published. The plan was drawn by 
Major D. B. Douglas, formerly of the U. S. army, from personal 
inspection. The major, to whose energy and taste Green-Wood 
Cemetery is largely indebted, had examined the entire battle- 
ground with the eye of a soldier as well as surveyor, and the 
sketch which he furnished may be relied on as authentic and 
complete. 

Much has been written respecting the causes of this defeat. 
The sudden illness of General Greene, who had superintended 
the fortifications, and knew all the circumstances and necessities 
of the American position, — the neglect, consequent, perhaps, on 
the change of commanders, to guard properly the Jamaica road, 
— were doubtless the immediate causes of the surprise, the rout, 
the capture of two generals, and of so many soldiers. 

But had it been otherwise, — had every precaution been taken, 
— little more could have been done, or was probably expected, 
than to check the advancing foe. The American forces might 
have retreated in good order with comparatively small loss — but 
they must have retreated. Five thousand raw recruits — i'ew of 
whom had ever been in battle, and most of whom must have 
fought without cover — could not long have resisted twenty thou- 
sand well-appointed veterans. The real wonder is, that they did 
so well. It was the first fight of the war which took j)lace in the 
open field. To no greater trial of courage could those patriot, 
but unpractised soldiers have been put. Praise to their memo- 
ries ! — most of them stood well the test. They boldly faced, or 
repeatedly charged the foe — and fled or yielded oidy when longer 
resistance would have been madness and utter extermination. 

There is, perhaps, no period in the revolutionary strup-n-lp *^ 



48 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

which we can recur more profitably, than to the anxious summer 
and the gloomy autumn of 1776. The courage which survived 
such disasters ; the hope which lived on amid so many discour- 
agements ; the faith which no reverses nor difficulties could 
shake, and which finally rose triumphant over them all, — have 
long commanded, and must ever command the wonder of the 
world. And shall they not awaken something more than admi- 
ration in us, to whose benefit they have inured so largely ? 

It was while chilled by these blasts of adversity, — while water- 
ed, as it were, by the tears of those great spirits, who for a long 
time could bring to the suffering cause little besides their own 
indomitable energies, — that the tree of freedom was sending its 
roots outward and downward, and gathering strength for that 
rapidly expanding growth which marked the summer of its pros- 
perity. It is not, be it ever remembered, the magnitude of ar- 
mies — the masterly tactics, by which mighty masses are mad€ to 
march and countermarch — the brilliancy of the charge — the steady 
bravery of the repulse — or all the bloody statistics of the most 
ensanguined conflict, which can attach to military operations a 
true and lasting interest. A hundred terrible battles gave to Na- 
poleon a fame unequalled in the annals of war, and that " name 
at which the world grew pale." But they were unconnected 
with high principle, — they were followed by no great, benignant 
results, — and in the sober estimate of future times, will rank, in 
importance, far below those Fabian campaigns which laid the 
foundations of an empire, that already walks, with its rank un- 
challenged, among the foremost powers of earth. 

Not in vain, then, was even the defeat of Brooklyn ; not in 
vain, the anguish with which the usually calm spirit of Washing- 
ton was that day torn. Not in vain were those two anxious days 
and nights which he passed on horseback, and which saved from 
death or captivity nine thousand men. These, and more, — the 
reluctant abandonment of the city,— the cowardice and desertion 
of the militia, — the loss of the forts, — and that sad retreat of the 
reduced, discouraged, barefooted, and lialf-naked army through 
the Jerseys, — were all needed. In the immortal letters and dis- 
patches of the great commander, and in the painful annals of the 
time, we read the cost and the value of what we are now enjoy- 
ing. Without these, we had not fully known how inherent, liow 
enduring and elastic is the power of an earnest and virtuous 
patriotism. Without them, even the transcendent name of Wash- 
ington could not have filled the mighty measure of its fame. 



ffil)C lJilot'6 ittouumcut. 

' Sonte, scarcely parted twice a cable's length 

From those who on the firm earth safely stand, 

Shall madly vvatch the strain'd, united strength, 
And cheers and wavin^s of the gallant band, 
Who launch their life-boat with determined hand. 

Ah ! none shall live that zealous aid to thank : 

The wild surge whirls the life-boat back to land, — 

The hazy distance suddenly grows blank, — 

In that last, laboring plunge, the fated vessel sank." 

HIS structure commemorates the loss of a 
v\ brave and humane man. Thomas Frkeborn 
^ was one of those hardy mariners, whose pro- 
fessional duty keeps them almost perpetually 
on the sea, and whose daring little barks 
often meet the returning ship, while vet 
many leagues from port. He attempted to 
bring in the ship John Minturn, in the se- 
vere storm of the 14th February, 1846. In 
spite of every effort, she was driven upon the Jersey shore, — and 
Freeborn, with a large part of the ship's company, was drowned, 
though close to the beach, and within hail of hundreds, who un- 
fortunately could aft'ord them no relief. His brother pilots, with 
a liberality which does them great credit, reared this imposing 
monument. On a sarcophagus, which rests upon a massive base, 
is placed a ship's capstan, with a cable coiled around it. From 
this rises a mast, whose truncated top is surmounted by a small 
and well-executed statue of Hope, supported by her anchor and 
pointing to the skies. The front of the sarcophagus bears, in re- 
lief, a ship and a schooner, mutilated by the storm, and tossed by 
the waves. 

Its height and position make the monument a conspicuous ob- 
ject from the bay, — and will often arrest the eye of the pilot as he 
goes and comes on his hazardous but responsible errands. If it 
remind him of his own possible fate, it will assure him also that 
the faithful discharge of duty is never without its encouragement : 

iEternumque locus Palinuri nomen habebit. 




This tempest once blew sofi and fair, — 
This storm-gust seemed bright, piciured air, — 
These torrents, rushing from the sky, 
Were dews below, or clouds on high, 

4 



50 



GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 



The fires, in boreal flames that play'd 
So softly o'er last evening's shade, 
Now fierce athwart the darkness glare, 
Riving, with forked bolts, the air. 

These angry waves, that swell and roar, 
Late broke in ripples on the shore, — 
Or where yon sea-dogs rend their prey, 
Calm as a sleeping infant lay. 

Swift and secure the sea-boy glides— 
But ah I what peril near him hides ; 
Beneath him, or above him cast 
The sunken rock, or furious blast. 

Christian ! thy Pilot walks the wave, 
Full wise to guide — full strong to save 
His faintest word shall still the roar 
Of winds, and bear thee safe to shore. 



(Serman Cots. ©W-JtllDtDs' ©roimis, 

" Pilgrims that journey for a certain time, — 

Weak birds of passage crossing stormy seas, 
To reach a better and a brighter cUme, — 

We find our parallels and types in these ! 

Meanwhile, since death, and sorrow, and disease. 
Bid helpless hearts a barren pity feel ; 

Why to the Poor should check'd compassion freeze ? 
Brothers, be gentle to that one appeal,— 
Want is the only wo God gives you power to heal !" 




HE enclosures presented in this plate, are 
i\ upon Lawn Avenue. One of them is a pub- 
^ lie lot, where a single grave, at moderate 



cost, can always be had. Another, of about 
the stime size, belongs to several German 
families. The ardor with which these emi- 
grants cherish all the ties of kin and country 
is well known. Far away from the homes 
and grave-yards of their Fatherland, it is nat- 
ural that they should cling together in life, — and that, in death, 
they should wish to lie side by side. Beyond the Public Lot ex- 
tend, for a considerable distance, the grounds of the Odd-Fellows. 
Several Lodges of this charitable and great fraternity have here 
made provision for their last resting-place. This spot has already 
become populous ; and hundreds of long low mounds, in close 
juxtaposition, betoken the aspect which, through its entire extent, 
Green-Wood must assume at no distant day. 



itionumcnts. 




' Why call we, then, the square built monument, 
The upright column, and the low-laid slab, 
Tokens of death, memorials of decay 7 
Stand in this solemn, still assembly, man. 
And learn thy proper nature ; for thou seest 
In these shaped stones and letter'd tables, figures 
Oflife; 

— types are these 
Of thine eternity." 

HE establishment of rural cemeteries has 
awakened, by natural consequence, a livelier 
interest in the whole subject of sepulchral 
monuments. The feehng which prompts the 
erection of some memorial over the ashes of 
a friend, is undoubtedly a dictate of our com- 
mon humanity. A great philosophic poet 
ascribes the custom to that consciousness of 
immortality, which he believes to be univer- 
sal, and which is but aided and conlinned by the teachings of 
religion. Whatever the cause, its observance has marked every 
race and age in man's whole history, and appears not less in the 
" frail memorial," than in the gorgeous mausoleum ; in the simple 
Indian mound, than in the " star-y-pointing pyramid." The sup- 
posed necessities of city life, or its poor and heartless convention- 
alities, alone have been able to check or divert for a time the ex- 
pression of this spontaneous sentiment. But these interments in 
towns must be discontinued ; and the expectation is not prepos- 
terous, that the crowded charnel-houses which have so long re- 
ceived the dead to loathsome crypts, and nameless oblivion, will 
soon be closed forever. 

Well, then, may the introduction of the rural cemetery be hailed 
as the revival of a better taste, and the return to more healthy 
usages. It is something — it is much — to have transferred the 
resting-place of the departed from the blank and grim enclosures, 
the thoughtless and fierce turmoil of the city, to some retired and 
beautiful spot, — even though many continue to cling to their old 
associations, and, notwithstanding tlie necessity has ceased, still 
retain the tomb. " Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return." 
How shall this inevitable condition be fulfilled most completely 
and naturally — with the highest degree of safety to the living, and 
of security from desecration to the dead ? The question, how- 



52 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

ever various may be the practice, admits, it is believed, of but one 
answer. That answer is, by single interments in the free soil. 
Nature, reason, experience, utter the response, and taste reiterates 
and confirms it. To this conviction the public mind seems to be 
gradually, but surely coming. With the progress of this change, 
we witness an increasing attention to commemorative memorials, 
and evident improvement in their forms and modes of erection. 
Such improvement was greatly needed. Bear witness a thousand 
grave-yards, but too emblematic of decay and dissolution ! Witness 
ten thousand tablets, once bearing the names and virtues of ihe 
lamented dead, and fondly reared to their " memory," now mos- 
sy, mouldering, inclined, or prostrate, puzzling the groping visit- 
or, and sometimes baffling even antiquarian patience ! Witness 
especially, those heaps unsightly of brick and mortar, formerly 
veneered with costly marble, now half-denuded, or entirely fallen, 
with their recorded "hie jacet" doubly true. It is almost impos- 
sible to find a monument composed of several pieces united by 
masonry, which has stood twenty years, without more or less of 
dilapidation and displacement. This evil has been too palpable 
not to be widely felt, and the wonder is, that spectacles so dis- 
creditable should have been endured so long. 

Of the beautiful cemeteries lately formed among us, Ave hope 
better things. That the hope be not delusive, will require untir- 
ing vigilance on the part of those who conduct these establish- 
ments, and the use of every precaution, by those who occupy the 
grounds. In the comparatively modern Pere la Chaise, this evil 
has already become great, and even in some of the still more 
recent English cemeteries, is beginning to be matter of complaint. 
Climate, the main source of the difliculty, is probably not more 
favorable here than it is in France and England. We are sub- 
ject to the extremes of heat and cold, of moisture and dryness ; 
to intense frosts and sudden thaws. No material that can be used 
for monuments, has yet been found perfectly proof against these 
potent influences. But although there is not one, perhaps, of the 
stones in architectural use, which exposed to the weather, is 
wholly invulnerable, it is certain that they difier widely in respect 
of durability. Ignorance or disregard of this fact has led to 
much of the decay and unsightliness which have so long charac- 
terized our places of sepulture. This is not, however, the only 
cause. 

The whole subject of monumental erections, as a question both 
of taste and durability, must interest not only those who contem- 
plate making such improvements in Green-Wood, but all who 
would preserve from deformities and desolation, a scene of un- 
rivalled, and, as yet, undisfigured beauty. 

Regarded as an affair of taste, the subject is one of some deli- 
cacy, and we venture upon it with becoming deference. We do 
not forget the right of each individual to have his own way in such 



MONUMENTS. 53 

matters, nor those maxims of universal currency, which rest upon 
the assumption, that in ail this wide province there are no i'unchi- 
mental principles. We set up no invariable standard, nor would 
we, if in our power, enforce uniformity, — variety being essential 
to pleasing effect. But we have notwithstanding, an unalterable 
conviction that all considerations of this sort rest upon certain 
laws of fitness and propriety, which cannot be violated without a 
shock to every mind of just perceptions and powers rightly cul- 
tivated. If it be a question of form only, the lines of beauty and 
deformity are not so easily decided. Yet even here there is less 
of latitude than is often supposed. There is a voice — the gener- 
ally harmonious voice of cultivated taste. It has the sanction of 
numbers and of ages, and may not lightly be disregarded. 

The simplest, cheapest form of sepulchral memorial, is the 
common headstone. This, in its usual character of a thin tabular 
slab, merely inserted in the earth, is not allowed in Green-Wood, 
for the sufficient reason, that it cannot be made to retain an erect 
position. Particular graves are sometimes marked by tablets 
placed horizontally, and sometimes by thick stones at the ends, 
rising but a little from the surface. But the head-stone proper is 
not excluded. To give the required durability, it needs only be 
made sufficiently thick to rest firmly upon a w^ell-supported base. 
Tins class of monuments is susceptible of many pleasing forms, 
and being modest and unexpensive, will be likely to suit the taste 
and means of not a few. 

Of the more elaborate structures it will not be possible to treat 
in much detail, A few suggestions, of a general nature, will alone 
be attempted. In most of our rural cemeteries, the popular taste, 
ever prone to a servile imitation, has shown a strong predilection 
for pyramidic forms. The chief objection is the multiplication of 
one thing producing, as it must, a wearisome sameness. We have 
seen a ground so full of pyramids and obelisks, that one could 
almost fancy it a gigantic cabinet of minerals, being all crystals 
set on end. But there are other considerations which should 
weigh in this matter. The great pyramid of Gizch excites emo- 
tions of grandeur by its vast height and bulk. Reduce it to a 
model six feet high : the sublimity is gone, and there is no spe- 
cial beauty in the object to compensate for the loss. Those vast 
monolithal, acicular pyramids called obelisks, their summits pierc- 
ing the skies, and their adamantine surfaces embossed with hiero- 
glyphics, attract our gaze as marvels of patience and power. But 
what particular atoning charm have our petty and unsuccessful 
imitations of them, that they should usurp and fill so much 
space ? 

These remarks, it is scarcely necessary to add, urge not the 
exclusion of this class of monuments, but only a more sparing and 
sensible use of them. Set here and there among other diversified 
and graceful forms, these geometric solids might produce a happy 



54 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED, 

effect. The dark conical fir-tree, judiciously planted amid masses 
of irregular and bright foliage, shows well in contrast, and pleases 
every eye. But who would fancy a park of firs ? 

Those whose hearts are set on pyramids and obelisks, will of 
course gratify that taste. Whde so doing, it may be well to re- 
member, that in their angular measures, and in the relative dimen- 
sions of the monolith and pedestal, these seemingly monotonous 
structures differ very considerably, — often betraying, by their 
clumsiness, the bungling ignorance of those who designed them. 
In shape and proportions they should assuredly be consonant with 
the best forms of ancient art, unless mdeed modern genius can 
improve upon those. 

Among other antique forms still used, the sarcophagus and 
column are prominent. These are more susceptible of variety, 
and to lines of higher beauty, add the charm of classic associa- 
tions. To the former of these, as a monument for the open air, it 
may perhaps be objected, that as commonly placed, it is too low 
for impressive effect. Properly elevated on a massive base, it 
could scarcely fail to be imposing. To the simple pillar, likewise, 
as we usually see it, a similar objection holds. It is too slender ; 
it lacks dignity; it does not fill the eye. To give it an effective 
diameter, would require a height which might be inconvenient or 
too expensive. The short rectangular pillar, or elongated pedestal, 
Avith regular base, die, and cornice, and supporting an urn, or some 
similar ornament, is a much more substantial object. This has 
been long in use among us, and seems to have been often resort- 
ed to, when it was proposed to have something particular grand 
in the sepulchral line. Being executed generally in the style of 
mantle-work, the lines are for the most part rectilinear, meager in 
detail, and homely in expression. These monuments, with their 
brick cores and marble skins, are rapidly disappearing. Peace to 
their ruins ! Let no presumptuous mortal attempt to reconstruct 
them ! 

But this kind of structure becomes a very different affair, when 
reared of solid material, and of stone, which yields to the chisel, 
and can defy the elements. Several monuments of this class, 
both square and tripodal, have been put up in Green-Wood, and 
have done much toward giving the improvements there a charac- 
ter for originality and beauty, — evincing, as they do, great capa- 
bility in the way of variety, of dignity, and of grace. 

Numerous declivities in the grounds greatly facilitate the exca- 
vation and the use of tombs, and by consequence, render their 
fronts conspicuous. A cursory observation of the different en- 
trances, is sufficient to show that there is, even in these humble 
faqades, considerable scope as well as call for architectural skill. 
The conditions which we would see fulfilled, and which are actu- 
ally attained here in many instances, are an appearance of per- 
fect security and strength, — symmetrical proportions, — and that 



MONUMENTS. 55 

air of quiet solemnity, which becomes the entrance to a house of 
the dead. 

The subject of monuments and devices strictly symbolical, 
opens a field for consideration wider than we can now explore. 
Within the whole range of mortuary memorials, there is probably 
nothing which gives so complete satisfaction as this embodiment 
of thought in marble speech, when it is felicitously conceived, and 
properly executed. Sculpture has won her greenest and most en- 
during crown, when, with mute eloquence, she tells the story of 
faith triumphant over mortal anguish, — and, with immortality 
written on her beaming brow, stands pointing heavenward. But 
in proportion to the greatness and gladness of that success which 
rewards the high endeavor, are the disappointment and disgrace 
which tread on the heels of failure. The eye of taste and the 
heart of sensibility are shocked by attempts, which convert into 
objects of ridicule and contempt, what ought only to solemnize 
and elevate the mind. In reference, then, to all original concep- 
tions of a symbolic nature, the path of prudence seems plain. He 
who meditates a work of this description, ought surely to consid- 
er well before he decides, lest peradventure he record some ex- 
pensive folly, in a material whose durability would then be its 
greatest misfortune. Such a work should bring into requisition 
the choicest talent and the highest skill. Genius and piety should 
furnish the design, and judgment and taste should superintend the 
task. 

For those who, in such matters, are content to copy the notions 
or works of others, the course is easier and safer. The pubhc 
voice, — the voice, perhaps, of centuries, — may be considered as 
having passed sentence of approval on the forms which have been 
so often repeated or imitated. And yet how many even of these 
significant representations, fail to meet the demands of a chasten- 
ed taste, or lack the sanction of reason and scripture. Angelic 
forms, for instance, have been favorite subjects of monumental 
sculpture. It could, indeed, hardly be otherwise. Our earliest 
and most cherished associations have accustomed us to blend some 
image of cherub or seraph, with every thought of the spiritual 
world. Sacred verse, from the nursery rhyme to the lofty epic, 
has made these winged messengers of heaven seem almost famil- 
iar to our senses. The Bible itself, through its whole course, 
from the sad, primeval hour, when 

" all in bright array, 
The cherubim descended," 

to close and guard the gate of Paradise, to that night of gladness, 
in which 

" swordcd seraphim" 
Were "seen in glittering ranks, with wings display'd, 
Harping in loud and solemn quire, 
With unexpressive notes, to heaven's new-born heir ;" — 



56 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED, 

is one continuous record of angelic visitations. In no way, per- 
haps, have the painter and sculptor more fully exhibited the power 
of genius and art, than in those happy efforts by which they have 
given to the eye these shapes of transcendent beauty and good- 
ness. But such are the exceptions. Too often, these attempted 
personifications in stone, or on the canvass, do not even approach 
the bright conceptions with which poetry and inspiration have 
filled our imaginations. When the subject is thus elevated, no- 
thing short of the highest attainment can satisfy our expectations; 
and with painful disappointment we turn away from the grotesque 
expression or incongruous attitude, 

" Though sculptors, with mistaken art, 
Place weeping angels round the tomb, 
Yet when the great and good depart. 
These shout to bear their conquerors home. 

" Glad they survey their labors o'er, 

And hail them to their native skies ; 
Attend their passage to the shore, 
And with their mounting spirits rise. 

" If, then, the wounded marble bear 
Celestial forms to grace the urn, 
Let triumph in their eyes appear, 
Nor dare to make an angel mourn." 

Of these imitations, the emblems most used are of Greek or 
Egyptian origin. To the dignity of age, some of them add that 
beauty of device and form which Grecian genius could so well 
impart. No one can doubt that in their own time and place, these 
symbols were natural and appropriate, as well as beautiful. But 
are they so still ? Seen among the cypresses of an Ionian ceme- 
tery, or over the ashes of some beloved and lamented Athenian 
youth, the fragmentary column, or the torch reversed and going 
out in darkness, was a fit expression of the popular belief, and 
truly symbolized a sorrow in which hope had neither lot nor part. 
To the mourners of pagan antiquity, death was extinction. To 
them, no voice from heaven had spoken. For them no page of 
revelation shone. No seer divine had taught them those lessons 
of faith, which alone can give to the bereaved and sorrowing, as- 
surance of immortality and reunion, when the broken pillar will 
be more than restored, and the extinguished blaze shall be relu- 
mined, never to fade again. With some reason might they plant 
upon the tomb the tokens of crushed affections and hopeless grief. 
But when a Christian weeps for departed loveliness, or would 
raise some memorial for one who has died in the faith and peace 
of the gospel, are these the emblems which he should adopt ? 
Shall he upon whose eye has beamed the star that first shed a ra- 
diance on the grave, and still lights up the once dark realms be- 



MONUMENTS, 37 

yond, employ the same symbols with the pagan and the infidel ? 
As a question of religious consistency — of simple propriety — of 
mere taste, even — has this matter been sufiicicntly considered ? 
We pretend not to suggest the forms which should either consti- 
tute or embellish the mementoes that rise for the dead in a Chris- 
tian land. Happily there is no lack of those which are both beau- 
tiful and appropriate. They will readily be found by such as seek 
for them. Those who will use the gloomy hieroglyphics of some 
perished creed, should at least place near them the cheering em- 
blems of a living faith. If Death be represented with downcast 
look and inverted tlame, let Immortality, as in the fine group of 
Thorwaldsen, stand by his side, with torch high blazing, and eyes 
upturned in love and rapture. 

A strong disposition has of late been prevalent, to revive, for 
civil, monumental, and religious purposes, the architecture of the 
ancient world. When man builds for his own accommodation, or 
for objects purely civil and secular, the questions which he is 
called to settle are those of utility and beauty mainly. But 
when he rears a temple to God, or a memorial for the dead, there 
are other considerations which demand a hearing. In determining 
the style of erections designed to express and to cherish emotions 
of tenderness and piety, it is not wise — it is not safe to disregard 
those influences which belong to associated thought, and to time- 
hallowed memories. We are creatures of sentiment and sympa- 
thy. A few, in their superior illumination, may profess indiffer- 
ence to the power of circumstances so trivial. But these are not 
" the people." However they may doubt or deny the reality, the 
world yet rolls on, and round, — and causes, not the less irresisti- 
ble that they are unseen and despised, still move the rising and 
retiring tides of human passion. 

It is in disregard of such influences as those above referred to, 
that some modern philanthropists have thought it a good specula- 
tion, both pecuniary and religious, to purchase theatres, and con- 
vert them into houses of public worship. Has the experiment 
worked well ? Not so did the early Christians. When Rome 
was converted from idolatry to the religion of the cross, thousands 
of temples were abandoned by their worshippers. Here were 
structures ready furnished to their hands. Did their Grecian sym- 
metry — their pillars of polished marble and porphyry — their tesse- 
lated floors — or their magnificent cornices and colonnades — tempt 
the followers of Jesus within their walls? JNay, they knew too 
well the power of old associations, to set up a pure and spiritual 
worship on pavements lately wet with libations to Bacchus and 
Venus, — where altars had smoked to Jupiter and Mars, — and 
where every familiar object must have been redolent of error and 
impurity. And is Christian architecture so poor and scanty, — is 
modern genius so sterile, that we must seek the models of our 
churches in '* superstitious" Athens, and derive the forms of our 



58 GREEN-WOO© ILLUSTRATED. 

sepulchral monuments, gateways, and chapels, from calf-adoring 
Egypt? 

An American writer, who had noticed the strong predilection 
for the antique manifested in the oldest of our cemeteries, has 
happily expounded the principles of taste and feeling Avhich should 
prevail in sepulchral architecture. We quote from the North 
American Review for October, 1836: 

" It is very doubtful whether the Egyptian style is most appro- 
priate to a Christian burial-place. It certainly has no connection 
with our religion. In its characteristics it is anterior to civiliza- 
tion ; and therefore is not beautiful in itself. No one will deny 
the superiority of the Grecian in mere point of beauty. But more 
than this, Egyptian architecture reminds us of the religion which 
called it into being, — the most degraded and revolting paganism 
which ever existed. It is the architecture of embalmed cats and 
deitied crocodiles : solid, stupendous, and time-defying, we allow ; 
but associated in our minds with all that is disgustmg and absurd 
in superstition. Now, there is certainly no place, not even the 
church itself, where it is more desirable that our religion should 
be present to the mind, than the cemetery, which must be regard- 
ed either as the end of all things, — the last, melancholy, hopeless 
resort of perishing humanity, — the sad and fearful portion of man, 
which is to involve body and soul alike in endless night ; or, on 
the other hand, as the gateway to a glorious immortality, — the 
passage to a brighter world, whose splendors beam even upon the 
dark chambers of the tomb. It is from the very brink of the 
grave, where rest in eternal sleep the mortal remains of those 
whom we have best loved, that Christianity speaks to us in its 
most triumphant, soul-exalting words, of victory over death, 
and a life to come. Surely, then, all that man places over the 
tomb should, in a measure, speak the same language. The mon- 
uments of the burial-ground should remind us that this is not our 
final abode : they should, as far as possible, recall to us the conso- 
lations and promises of our religion." 

For the highest class of monumental tributes, we must resort to 
the studio of the sculptor. Personal representations, whether 
real or allegorical, will ever maintain in the world of art a superi- 
ority to all other forms, not unlike that which belongs to their pro- 
totypes in the worlds of life and thought. Accordingly, in all 
ages and lands in which art has flourished, monumental sculpture 
I'.us abounded. In our busy country, the era of the fine arts, if in 
progress, has but just begun. As was to be expected, our patron- 
age of the brush and chisel thus far has been somewhat character- 
istic, if not selfish, — amounting to little more than orders for 
portraits and busts, to adorn the domestic halls which still rejoice 
in the presence of the originals. Nor is it because they could not 
be had, that better things have not been more generally sought. 
In the first of these departments American genius has for years 



MONUMENTS. 59 

been distinguished ; and in the latter, it has entered on a career 
which promises to be h)ng and brilliant. To native merit of so 
high order, our countrymen cannot long remain insensible and un- 
just. With increasing wealth and leisure, — with advancing know- 
ledge and refinement, — with travel more frequent and extended, 
the patronage of art will undoubtedly keep pace. In that coming 
and not distant age of Phidian splendor, the dead will claim and 
receive no inconsiderable share of tlie sculptor's skill. Wealth, 
refined by taste, and quickened by the promptings of grief and 
afiection, will delight to preserve in breathing marble the loved 
form which has faded from earth. Through the medium of this 
most expressive art, the language of sorrow and of hoi)e may be 
conveyed to the eye with happiest effect ; and while propriety in 
design might thus go, hand in hand, with sensibility of feeling, 
merit would reap a fostering reward. Large sums have not un- 
frequently been devoted to the erection of huge Egyptian monu- 
ments, — to fanciful tombs below and above ground,— or to piles 
of masonry, which, beyond their expensiveness, have little or no- 
thing else to boast of. Had these ample means been applied to 
secure works of high art from a Greenough or Powers, a Craw- 
ford or Brown, how different the result, both as to present effect 
and enduring influence ! 

For all purposes of improvement in the arts — of national repu- 
tation — of patronized genius, need we say that the former are ut- 
terly inefficient ? Were there, on the other hand, in the grounds 
at Green-Wood, a single perfect statue — but one great master- 
piece of American sculpture, to be seen and studied by the myri- 
ads who annually visit the spot, can any one estimate the elements 
of power which would sit enthroned within its fair proportions ? — 
power to awaken or enhance a sensibility to beauty, — power to el- 
evate while it refines the intellect, and thus with reflex influence 
to aid in moulding the manners and the heart ? 

But there is one serious obstacle to the introduction of line 
sepulchral statuary, which meets us at the threshold. Only one 
material, if we may believe the concurring voice and practice of 
artists in all ages, is suitable for the highest efforts of the chisel. 
But to expose under the open sky, and to all the rigors of our 
Scythian climate, the snowy marble on which months or years of 
labor have been expended, seems to be little less than barbarous. 
Those who have observed the effects of exposure in this country, 
upon even the hardest and purest of the Italian marbles, need not 
be told in how short a time weather-stains, and cracks, and ex- 
foliation, do their ruinous work. If, then, we are ever to have in 
our cemeteries these noblest and most beautiful of all sepulchral 
memorials, some safe and becoming shelter must be provided for 
them. 

The need of a chapel in Green-Wood, for the accommodation 
of those who would prefer to have some rehgious service on the 



60 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

ground, has been felt from the first. Nothing, it is supposed, but 
expenses deemed still more exigent, have prevented the govern- 
ment of the Institution from erecting, ere this, such a structure. 
Whatever of cogency there maj' have been in these reasons, it is 
respectfully suggested whether the chapel be not now the first 
and highest want of the Cemetery. When the great number of 
interments made in it is considered, it cannot be doubted, that 
there are many families, summoned by these mournful errands to 
the grave, to whom such a building would be a great accommoda- 
tion. Nowhere, certainly, could the last rites of love and religion 
be more decently paid, than in such a place, set apart for funereal 
purposes ; while, at the same time, the afiiicted home might be 
relieved from what is too often the intrusive bustle of a crowded 
funeral. A cemetery chapel might also, we believe, be greatly 
useful, by furnishing a place where the friends of the deceased 
could, at the appointed hour, privately assemble ; removing thus 
the supposed necessity of providing a long train of carriages, — a 
custom which involves much idle parade, and not unfrequently an 
oppressive expense. 

But not to dwell on considerations which deserve a separate 
discussion, let us return to the thought which brought the chapel 
before us. The idea of using the structure proposed to be erected 
for burial services, to receive, also, and preserve delicate statuary 
and reliefs, was sugested in an article appended to a published 
statement of the Comptroller for 1845. The considerations then 
suggested have lost none of their weight. Already may be seen 
upon the ground sculpture of exquisite delicacy, seeking, as it 
were, the protection which it cannot find. The plan of a chapel 
for Green- Wood should be of a magnitude commensurate with the 
future prospects of this great institution. But the whole is not 
required at first, and we cannot permit ourselves to doubt that a 
wing or portion of the needed fabric will soon adorn the ground. 
Allusion was made, in the beginning of this essay, to the per- 
ishable nature of some of the materials used for monuments, and 
to the influence of atmospheric changes upon them all. This 
point has received less attention than its importance merits. 
Strength and durability are indeed proverbial attributes of stone ; 
but they are possessed, by the numerous varieties in use, in widely- 
difl'ering degrees. In the United States, stone has not been em- 
ployed for architectural purposes either so long, or in such vari- 
ety, as to furnish the means of deciding the question of compara- 
tive durability, though something may be learned from even our 
limited experience. In (he old world the case is diflerent. There 
the influences of time and weather have been fully tested. In the 
serene skies of southern Europe and of western Asia, maybe seen 
many a marble pillar, over which two thousand winters have 
swept, without leaving a spot on their virgin purity, or dimming 
their original polish. But how unlike to this are the efl'ects of 



MONUMENTS. 61 

northern skies! A few years since, an obelisk brought from 
Luxor in Egypt, was set up in the French capital. The material 
is a granite of almost impracticable hardness, and its highly- 
wrought pictured surfaces had suffered no injury from thirty cen- 
turies of African exposure. Already it has been found necessary 
to cover its sides with coatings of caoutchouc, to preserve ihem 
from the corrosive influence of a Parisian atmosphere. In Kng- 
land, the defacement of many stone structures from dilapidation 
gradually going on, has long been a subject of remark. A Report 
which was made to the Commissioners of Woods and Forests, on 
occasion of selecting the stone for the new Houses of Parliament, 
gives minutely the history and character of all the principal build- 
ing-stones of Great Britain. The results of the investigation were 
remarkable. They show that while some kinds of sand-stone and 
of lime-stone — the materials chiefly used in that country — have 
stood for seven or eight centuries, almost or (juite uninjured, there 
are other varieties of the same minerals, which show signs of 
decay, after the lapse of as many years. In several ancient 
structures, where two sorts of stone were used, one of them has 
crumbled like so much wood, while the other continues in good 
preservation. Everywhere it was found that the growth of lichens 
on the surface of the stone, however it may disfigure its appear- 
ance, is favorable to its duration. The wide and thorough ex- 
amination thus made, ended in the recommendation of a crystal- 
line, magnesian limestone, or dolomite, as having given, on the 
whole, the best evidence of enduring value. The use of stone, as 
a building material, is fast increasing in our country, — and the 
facts in this Report are, as far as American quarries correspond to 
those of England, of the highest iniportance 

In the selection of a material for sepulchral purposes, regard 
should be had both to looks and durability. The adoption of a 
dark or a light tint, will naturally be determined in part by the 
style and position of the monument — in part by the taste of the 
proprietor. White, or something which approaches to it, has 
many admirers. When fresh it has an air of ])urity and brilliance, 
and contrasts hap})ily with surrounding verdure. But, unfortu- 
nately, under our changeful and weeping skies, this beauty is soon 
tarnished. The fact will, undoubtedly, tend more and more to 
diminish the use of lime-stone and marble, unless some varietj^ 
should hereafter be found, with powers of resistance and endur- 
ance superior to any known at present. 

Among the harder and older rocks — granite, sienite, &c. — 
there are, doubtless, varieties which will satisfy every reasonable 
demand on the score of duration. These unyielding materials 
are entirely unsuited to structures distinguished by curvilinear 
forms, and carved ornaments, — and nothing can be better adapted 
than they are to those which are marked by rigid outlines of mas- 
sive strength and time-defying solidity. 



62 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

But one more stone requires a notice here. Of American sand- 
stones there is a large variety, from those which are so coarse and 
friable as to be neither good-looking nor lasting, to those which 
are fine-grained, compact, beautiful, and, in all probability, endur- 
ing also. Of this last description, is the red sand-stone from 
New Jersey, to which allusion has more than once been made in 
the preceding numbers of this work. The quarry, which is at 
Little Falls, near Newark, was first opened for the erection of 
Trinity Church, in New York. In that elaborate edifice, which 
is built wholly of this material, it is wrought into every possible 
form of beauty and strength. The finest monuments and tomb- 
faqades in Green-Wood are from the same source. It consists of 
quartz and mica united firmly by an argillaceous cement, and 
slightly colored with oxide of iron. The fineness and uniformity 
of its grain, its comparative hardness and great compactness, jus- 
tify the belief that it will long resist the disintegrating energies of 
our varying climate. Should this prove the case, it will, as a ma- 
terial for monumental and architectural purposes, combine an 
assemblage of virtues which belong to no other stone that has yet 
come into use among us. 

But the finest of models, and the choicest of materials, will 
avail little, unless the foundation and erection be made with care. 
The monument should rest on a bed of concrete, extending below 
the action of frost and the grave-digger. Each stone should, if 
possible, reach quite across, leaving no vertical joints, — and, if 
stratified, it should invariably be laid so that the planes of lamina- 
tion shall be horizontal. The best of waterproof cement should 
alone be used as a binding material ; and it is still better to make 
the contiguous surfaces so true as to require only an intervening 
sheet of lead. With the careful use of such precautions, perpen- 
dicularity and permanence, for a long time to come, may be 
safely guarantied against all the ordinary causes of displacement 
and decay. 





inscriptions on iltonnmcnts. 

[Written in 1&45.] 

^ HE feeling which prompts to some kind of 
\ inscription on the tomb, is not less sponta- 
^ neous than that which leads to the erection 
of the memorial itself. There is no custom 
of greater antiquity or more extensive ob- 
servance. Until within a period compara- 
tively recent, a tombstone without some sort 
of epitaph was an anomaly of rare occur- 
rence. But for several years past there has 
been a growing disuse of inscriptions, and particularly is this the 
case in our larger cemeteries. This has resulted, in part, prob- 
ably, from the increasing use of vaults — which are generally 
designated merely by the name of the proprietor — and partly, no 
doubt, from a growing fastidiousness. The community notice and 
feel more than they used to do, the want of taste in the style of 
monumental inscriptions, as well as of judicious moderation in 
their praises of the dead. 

But, while we sympathize with this feeling, it may be well to 
ask whether it be not carrying us too far, when it leads to the 
general abandonment of inscriptions. Can the abuse of a custom, 
good in itself, be remedied only by entire relinquishment? Who 
can wander through one of our more recent burial grounds, and 
pass lot after lot, and obelisk after obelisk, all uninscribed, or 
bearing simply the family name, worked, perhaps, into the iron 
gate, — and not feel that he misses something, which at other 
times, and in other spots, used to quicken his sensibilities and 
touch his heart? In this world of sense, and strife, and passion, is 
it wise to dispense with aught that is adapted to excite tender and 
pious sentiments ? Should the present neglect of inscriptions con- 
tinue to prevail, the most beautiful of the modern cemeteries may 
be found in moral interest and effect far inferior to the old church- 
yard, and rural burying-ground, — however abounding in quaint 
devices and epitaphs offensive to modern refinement. 

" Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse, 
The place of fame and elegy supply. 
And many a holy text around she strews, 
That teach the rustic moralist to die." 

The beautiful grounds of Green-Wood have already become the 
scene of much resort. They will be visited by increasing num- 
bers, as they become more known, and especially as the circle 



64 GREEN-WOOD ILLUSTRATED. 

widens which connects by ties of mournful interest, its silent oc- 
cupants with the living multitudes in the adjacent cities. To such 
they should present all that becomes a Christian Cemeterj', situ- 
ated in a wealthy neighborhood, and commenced in an age of re- 
finement and of art. In the variety and beauty of these grounds — 
so open and sunny in some parts — so shaded and secluded in 
others — so near to a vast city, yet so retired and still — Nature has 
left us nothing to desire. Art, indeed, has but just commenced its 
great work of improvement here. Is it too much to say that the 
work has been well begun ? Several of the monuments and tombs 
already constructed are entirely original in design, and not less 
appropriate and beautiful, than they are new. From the happy 
and fertile invention which produced these, as well as from other 
kmdred sources, it is hoped that we shall obtain many more of 
the same description. 

While not a few will doubtless prefer the old and oft-used forms 
of the obelisk, pillar, slab or sarcophagus, it is certainly desirable 
to have in monumental structures greater variety than is to be 
found in most of our cemeteries, and this want, in some places, is 
beginning to be felt. Monuments, like most of those now in 
Green-Wood, constructed of a durable material, with a solidity 
which will long defy the action of the elements, and in forms that 
attract and gratify the eye, do of themselves, convey in part, and 
well convey, the story of love and grief. But who does not con- 
fess a sense of disappointment, if on drawing near he find no brief 
epitaph, no sententious thought, no scriptural allusion or quota- 
tion, expressive of bereaved affection and of Christian hope ? 

There are no more felicitous or touching memorials than those 
beautiful symbolic devices, in which afi'ection, aided by native art, 
has sometimes paid to the dead its last fond tribute. But for deli- 
cate sculpture, statuary marble is the only material, and this will 
not bear exposure. We have here no cathedrals or disused clois- 
ters to receive and preserve the exquisite productions of the 
chisel. But our country is rich in sculptors of the highest ability 
and promise, and they should not lack encouragement from home. 
And may not the Chapel for burial service, which will be erected 
as soon as the means of the Cemetery shall admit, be so con- 
structed as to furnish a fitting receptacle for tablets and statuary ? 
In such an edifice the kindred arts of architecture and sculpture 
could have free scope. Rising in calm and solemn grandeur, it 
would adorn and designate the Place of Graves. Sacred to Reli- 
gion and the Dead, every tender and holy association would 
gather round it. There affectionate memory might consecrate to 
the departed the finest works of genius, and feel them to be safe. 
There a grateful community might rear memorials to the gifted 
and the good — till the stately, and growing, and crowded pile 
should present, at length, even on our western shores, a West- 
minster Abbey — another Santa Croce. 



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